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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHiy/)/iCIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


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10X 

14X 

18X 

22X 

28X 

30X 

J 

n 

m 

::  '.'  ■ 

16X 

20X 

24X 

afix 

32X 

Ill;; 

difier 

me 

age 


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empreinte. 

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et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  p-enant  le  nombre 
d'^mages  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


rata 

0 


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32X 


1  2  3 


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2 

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The  Kotaey's  Daughter. 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR. 


MliS,    GERALD'S  NIECE. 

A  Novel.     I  vol.  8vo,  cloth,  $i  50 ;  doth,  gilt  edges,  $2. 

TOO  STRANGE  NOT  TO  BE   TRUE. 

I  vol.  8vo.     With  illustrations.     CloJh,  f  i  50 :  cloth 
gilt  edges,  $2. 

A    STORMY  LIFE ;     OR,    QUEEN   MAR- 
GARET 'S  JO  URNAL. 

A  Novel.    8vo,  cloth,  with  illustrations  by  Gaston  Fay, 
$1  50 ;  cloth,  gilt,  $2. 

ROSE  LE  BLANC. 

I  vol.  x6mo,  cloth,  $1 ;  cloth,  gilt  edges,  $r  50. 

THE  STRAW-CUTTER'S  DAUGHTER  and 
THE  PORTRAIT  IN  MY  UNCLE'S 
DRA  WING-ROOM. 

Translated  from  the  French,     t  vol   i6mo,  |i  ;  cloth, 
gilt,  |i  50. 

LIFE  OF  ST.  FRANCIS  OF  ROME. 
I  vol.  i6mo,  cloth,  $1 ;  gilt  edges,  $1  50. 

WHICH  IS    WHICH;   OR,   THE  FIRE  O^ 
LONDON. 
A  Play  in  Three  Acts.     i6nio,  paper,  25  cents. 

GERMAINE  COUSIN,    THE  SHEPHERD-^ 
ESS  OF  PI  BR  AC. 
A  Play  in  Two  Acts.     i6mo,  paper,  25  cents. 

Sent  by  mail,  postage  paid,  to  any  address,  on  receipt  of 
the  price. 

D.  &,  J.  SABLIER  &,  CO.. 

SfSaretoof  Stngt,  JV*tf  Tori-, 


THe 


i\OTART'S  DAUGHTER. 


Trandaied  from  the  Fremh  of  Madame  Lemiie  Donmt 


BT 


LADY  GEORGIANA  FDLLERTOiV, 


New  York  : 

D.  &  J.  SADLIER  &  CO.,  31  BARCLAY  STREET. 

MONTBKAL :  275  NOTRE  DAME  STREET 


Copyright, 
D  &  J.  BADLDSR  &  CO., 

1878. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

LaPinMe,    .       .       ,        .....       /^S 

CHAPTER  II. 
The  Family  of  De  VedeUes,  ......      g^ 

CHAPTER  III. 

Visitors,        ...  ^» 

••••••     80 

CHAPTER  IV. 
More  Visitors, ^ 

CHAPTER  V. 

Mise  Mede,    ...  -- 

•        •        .        •       .       •      01 

CHAPTER  VI. 

An  Accident,         ,       .  ^«, 

* .75 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Complications,       .       .  '  ^^ 

•         •        •        IS        •     1W8 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
Second  Thoughts, j22 

CHAPTER  IX. 
A  Trifling  Obstacle,      ,       .       ...       ,  igo 

8 


'J 


'It 


i  ^ 

f  -i 


4  Contents. 

CHAPTER  X. 
Another  Trifling  Obstacle,     .       .       ,    •   ,       ,       .  '145 

CHAPTER  XI. 
Denise's  Letter, ^  ^59 

CHAPTER  XII. 
A  Misconception,  ....,,,  1^ 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
The  CivU  Marriage, I79 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
Mise  Med^'s  Return,      ....       ^        ,,    187 

CHAPTER  XV. 
Belbousquet,  •       ^       .       .       ,       ,       ,       .    303 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
■A.  Crisis 218 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
A  Discovery, ^  gg* 

"^CHAPTER  XVIII. 
The  Clue  Laid  Hold  Of,        .       .       .       ,       .       .246 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
An  Emergency, ^       ^    264 

CHAPTER  XX. 
Rose  at  La  Pinede,        . 202 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
A  Stroll  through  the  Woods,         .....    804 

CHAPTER  XXIL 
All  is  Well  that  Ends  Well,  ..,*,.       ,    %\% 


The  NOTARY'S  Daughter; 


CHAPTER  I. 


LA    PINEDSL 


seiUeVan^T  '  f  "■'  ^^''"<'™°^'"'.  between  Mar- 
seilles and  TonloD,  a  small  harbor  lies  snugly  en- 

sconced  m  the  rocks  and  protected  from  thf  wkd 

by  a  stony  projection  shaped   like  a  pier,      la 

Tt2  mtl  '"""k  '"""''""''  ^^^"^  '''"  shelter 
of  this  httle  haven,  but  at  other  times  the  only 

boats  ,n  It  are  those  bejonging  to  the  fishermen  of 

«^iotat.  It  had  never  been  heard  of  until  the  Carlo 
Mieriorn  1831  landed  the  Duchesso  de  Berri  on 
«mt  po,„t  of  the.  French  coast,  and  at  the  time 

known  in  France  as  if  the  qnaint  little  city  had 
beensitnrled  in  the  neighborhood  of  Pen.ambuco 
or  Batavia.      In  geographical  dictionaries  it  was 

Who  h«  ^ct  bW  saSie'd  tlS^ZptSM?  w^r  • 

ft 


*     • 


K*- 


i 


6  The  Notary's  Daughter, 

said  to  contain  four  thousand  five  hundrcrl  inhabi- 
tants, and  the  vintage  of  its  hillocks  was  highly 
commended. 

At  the  time  we  are  s^jeaking  of  a  carriage  road 
from  Marseilles  to  La  Ciotat  was  in  course  of  con- 
struction. In  spite  of  great  efforts,  the  work  pro- 
ceeded slowly.  Great  obstacles  arose  from  the  na- 
ture of  the  soil.  Engineers  and  miners  found  it 
difficult  to  deal  with  the  rocks  and  precipices  in 
their  way ;  but  there  was  no  lack  of  zeal  in  over- 
coming nature's  resistance,  for  the  new  road  was  to 
open  (3oramunications  with  Marseilles,  and  for  the 
inhabitants  of  Li  Ciotat  Marseilles  was  a  sort  of 
Paris.  As  to  the  real  P~.ris,  they  knew  its  name, 
they  talked  of  it,  but  never  dreamed  of  going  there; 
nor  is  it  quite  certain  that  they  all  did  know  of  the 
existence  of  Paris  in  1835.  This  is  no  exaggera- 
tion, for  at  that  time  many  a  poor  peasant  used  to 
take  off  his  hat  as  he  passed  before  a  picture  of 
Louis  Phi'ipp?,  and  called  him  the  good  King  Louis 
the  Sixteenth.  The  storm  which  convulsed  the 
world  from  1789  to  1794,  and  the  glory  which  daz- 
zled it  from  1800  to  1815,  had  passed  unperceived 
over  the  heads  of  these  good  people. 

Now  all  is  changed.  A  dockyard  for  steamers 
ha.i  been  established  at  La  Ciotat.  The  benefits 
and  the  evils  of  civilization  Lave  reached  that  re- 
mote corner  of  the  world.  Tlie  traveller's  eye 
reads  its  name  as  he  passes  by  one  of  the  stations 
of  the  railway,  and  catches  a  glimpse  of  the  picu- 
resquo  little  town  and  its  bury  port  full  of  ship- 
ping. 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


At  about  a  league  and  a  half  from  La  Ciotat,  at 
tiie  foot  of  a  hill  covered  with  dwarf-pines^  ilexes, 
and  hollv,  stands  a  rock  where  tha  goatherds  of  the 
neighborhood  are  wont  to  congregate,  and  which 
they  call,  from  its  peculiar  shape,  "  the  Sugar-loaf." 
At  the  time  in  question  jast  opposite  this  rock 
two  roads  diverged  in  diftercnt  directions.  The 
new  highroad  leading  to  Marseilles  made  an  angle 
and  stretched  its  dusty  length  between  the  olive 
plains  on  each  tide  <  f  it,  and  the  other  road,  or 
rather  pathway,  half  choked  up  with  furze  and 
brambles,  and  supported  by  dilapidated  stonework, 
ascended  the  hill. 

"On  a  sunny  morning  in  March  a  man  was  sitting 
on  a  stone  ledge  at  the  bottom  of  the  Sugar- 
loaf  Rock.  His  dress  and  appearance  were  those  of 
a  thriving  bourgeois — his  figure  shc^t  and  stumpy, 
his  coaiploxion  brown  and  ruddy.  He  looked  be- 
tween forty  and  fifty  years  of  age.  There  wr^  in 
his  countenance  a  mixture — not  an  uncommon  one 
in  France — of  good-nature  and  shrewdness,  shrewd- 
ness of  a  common-place  sort,  with  more  sharpness 
in  it  than  cleverness.  There  was  a  cunning  look  in 
the  fat  little  gentleman's  eyes;  but  his  laugh  was 
frank,  which  indicated  that  the  cunning  was  as- 
sumed and  the  frankness  natural.  A  man's  char- 
acter is  more  easily  read  in  his  manner  of  laughing 
than  in  any  other  way  ;  what  is  false  or  affected  in 
it  is  too  apparent  to  deceive.  The  name  of  this 
personage  was  M>.  Toussaint  Lescalle.  He  was  a 
solicitor,  one  of  the  two  royal  notaries  established 
at  La  Oiotat.    At  the  moment  when  we  find  M. 


'■.  \ 


8  The  Notary's  Daughter. 

Lescalle  seated  at  the  foot  of  the  Sugar-loaf  Hill  he 
seemed  to  bo  expectirig  somebody.  Now  and  then, 
shading  his  eyeb  with  his  hand,  ho  glanced  at  the 
inew  road,  as  it  was  then  called.  The  wliite  pebbles 
sparkled  like  diamonds,  the  ground  glowed  like 
burnished  gold,  the  olivc-tjecs  gliitercd  like  quick- 
silver ;  but  it  was  not  the  peculiarities  of  the  land- 
scape which  occupied  M.  Lescalle.  He  beguiled 
Lis  impatience  by  reading  over  a  letter  which  he 
drew  out  of  a  huge  portfolio  on  his  knees,  and  then 
by  looking  every  two  or  three  minutes  at  his  watch 
with  manifest  signs  of  impatience. 

At  last  bo  got  up,  seized  his  portfolio  and  a  bun- 
dle of  keys  which  had  been  lying  in  his  hat,  and  be* 
gan  to  ascend  the  path  up  the  hill.  As  ho  was  slowly 
advancing  the  sound  of  a  horse's  trot  reached  his 
ears,  which  made  him  suddenly  stop  and  turn 
round,  and  then  ^  saw  a  man  on  horseback  ap- 
proaching at  full  spe^d,  upon  which  ho  rel raced 
his  steps. 

"  Upon  my  word,  M.  le  Baron,  I  had  given  jou 
up,"  he  exclaimed*  as  the  gentleman  came  up  to 
him. 

"  No  wonder,  my  good  friend,'*  wap  the  reply ; 
"but  if  I  am  late.  I  assure  you  I  could  not  help  it. 
I  have  been  spending  two  days  with  the  Marquis  de 
Pr6vis,  and  did  not  arrive  at  Marseilles  till  this 
morning.'* 

"  Will  the  marquis  lend  a  helping  hand  about 
the  election  ?'*  the  solicitor  enquired. 

"We  had  some  conversation  on  the  subject,**  the 
l)aron  said,  in  a  way  that  showed  he  did  not  intend 


'  ^^^ 


The  Notary's  Daughter.  g 

fco  disclose  what  had  passed  Ijfcween  him  and  the 
marquis.  M.  Lescalles  took  the  hint,  and  allowed 
the  subject  to  drop. 

Before  the  two  men  left  the  foot  of  the  Sugar- 
loaf  Hill  the  baron  dismounted  and  tied  his  horse 
to  the  trunk  of  an  olive-tree.  Glancing  at  the 
stony  and  steep  pathway,  ho  said,  "  I  am  not  going 
to  run  the  risk  of  breaking  my  Silphide's  legs  up 
that  horrid  road." 

The  lawyer  repressed  a  smile,  for  although  the 
old  mare  might  have  once  deserved  that  fanciful 
name,  lier  actual  aged  condition  and  broken  knees 
were  not  in  keeping  with  it.  There  was  a  sort  of 
resemblance  between  Silphide  and  her  master.  He, 
too,  was  old  and  thin  and  worn  out ;  a  small  head, 
long  limbs,  and  an  aquiline  nose  gave  him  a  com- 
bined likeness  to  a  racehorse  and  a  greyhound. 
The  Baron  de  Oroixfonds  nad  every  right  to  this 
aristocratic  appearance,  for  he  was  descended — so 
he  always  said,  at  least — from  one  of  King  R6n6*s 
brethern  in  arms  during  the  wars  between  the 
houses  of  Anjou  and  Aragon.  His  wealth  was 
8U':5posed  to  be  greatly  inferior  to  the  antiquity  of 
his  family,  but  he  had  an  elder  brother  who  was  » 
peei  of  France  and  very  rich.  His  expectations, 
in  consequence,  were  more  brilliant  ihan  his  means. 

As  they  slowly  ascended  the  hill  M.  Lescalle 
was  the  first  to  speak.  Assuming  a  souk  vhat  con- 
sequential manner,  he  said,  *'l  am  rather  afraid, 
M.  le  Baron,  that  this  excursion  of  yours  will 
prove  a  fruitless  one." 

"Why  so  ?"  the  baron  asked. 


■^■^  •■ 


!  *l 


f  I 


I 


:i|n 


f- 


iO 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


"  I  mean  that  you  will  not  be  able  to  carry  out 
your  plans." 

"Have  tbey  changed  their  minds  about  selling 
LaPinede?" 

"  Oh  !  dear,  no  ;  but  there  is  another  purchaser 
in  the  field/* 

"  Ye?,  a  lf07id-fide  one." 

"How  have  you  heard  of  it  ?" 

**  Rer*d  this  letter.  It  is  from  M.  Berthet,  of 
Marseilles." 

Tlie  baron  glanced  at  the  contents  of  the  letter, 
and  asked,  "  Who  is  this  Comte  de  Vedelles  ?  " 

*' An  ex-magibtrate,  I  think.  One  of  the  old 
nobility  of  Lorraine." 

"I  wonder  how  high  this  new  purchaser  will 
bid." 

"Considering  the  price  at  which  we  start  the 
sale,  there  is  ample  scope  for  bidders,"  the  solicitor 
observed,  in  a  confidential  tone. 

"  We  shall  see,"  the  baron  replied.  "That  low 
price  may  have  tempted  this  count.  When  he 
finds  that  a  neighboring  landowner  is  in  the  field 
ho  will  withdraw." 

"  And  you  will  purchase  ?  " 

"  Well,  my  son  Cesaire's  election  must  be  secured, 
and  to  secure  it  we  must  possess  La  Pinede.  I 
must  do  all  I  can,"  and  after  a  pause  the  baron 
added,  "  and  then  my  brother  will  help  us." 

"  Oh  I  if  the  Viscount  de  Oroixfonds  lends  hia 
assistancdj,  there  will  be  no  difiiculty." 

"I  am  gidc"  lu  any  case  to  see  this  mysterious 


-   S. 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


II 


place,"  the  baron  said,  witboat  taking  notice  of  M. 
Lescalle*s  remark.  ''  It  ia  an  old  fancy  of  mine, 
which  I  have  never  been  able  to  gratify.  Ever 
«nce  my  return  to  Croixfonds,  fifteen  years  ago,  I 
have  wished  to  go  to  La  Pin^de,  but  I  never  could 
get  in.  Have  you  always  had  possession  of  the 
keys  ?  ^ 

**  I  received  the  keys  of  the  chateau  sixteen  years 
ago,  when  Count  HonorS  went  away  after  the  death 
of  his  wife,  and  I  have  never  been  thtro  myself 
since  that  time.  He  had  given  me  exact  orders  on 
the  subject,  and  I  adhered  to  them.'' 

*'  And  has  nobody  been  into  the  house — nobody 
at  all — for  sixteen  years  ?  " 

"Count  Honor6,  as  long  as  bo  lived,  spent  a 
week  there  by  himself  every  year/* 

*'  In  what  a  wretched  ^\Ai^  it  must  be  I "  the 
baron  said. 

"  I  should  think  so  indeed,"  M.  Lescallo  replied, 
and  taking  the  Irrgest  of  the  keys  which  he  carried 
in  bis  hand,  he  thmst  it  into  the  rusty  lock  of  an 
iron  gate. 

Above  this  gate  was  a  medallion  in  the  style  of 
Louis  XV. *8  time,  on  which  tlie  letters  H  and  P 
formed  a  monoirram,  surmounted  by  a  coronet. 
On  each  side  of  tlie  gate  a  stone  wall  followed  the 
undulations  of  the  uneven  grourid  and  surrounded 
the  whole  summit  of  a  tall  hill,  which  seemtd  to 
rebel  against  this  rigid  belt  by  throwing  out  such 
an  immense  quantity  of  brambles  and  ivy  that  in 
ioveral  places  breaches  were  opened  in  the  wall. 
About  sixty  acres  of  barren,  wild,  uncultivated  land, 


•1,4 

■w 


12 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


dotted  abonfc  with  clumps  of  firs — ^remnants  of  the 
old  forest  which  had  given  its  name  to  the  place — 
were  enclosed  within  its  precincts,  and  in  the  centre 
of  this  property  stood  the  house,  respectfully  called 
by  every  one  in  that  neighborhood  the  CMteau  de 
]a  Finede. 

Small  as  it  was,  something  distinguished  and  old- 
fashioned  in  its  appearance  justified  that  appella- 
tion. It  had  been  built  in  the  reign  of  Louis 
XIII^,  partly  of  brick,  partly  of  stone,^^  and  formed  a 
perfect  square  ;  irregular  rows  of  windows  on  every 
side,  and  a  single  door  studded  witK projecting  iron 
nails,,  gave  it  very  much  the  look  of  a  gigantic  dice. 

Before  the  entrance-door  was  a  broad  paved 
terrace,  bordered  by  a  parapet,  on  which  v^ascs  of 
blue  china  contained  dried-up  mould  and  sticks 
which  had  once  been  wreathed  with  green.  Four 
acacias  planted  at  eaeh  corner  of  the  terrace  had 
grown  to  a  magnificent  size.  Their  branches,  freed 
*rom  the  trammels  which  used  to  compel  them  ta 
form  a  sort  of  tent  before  the  house,  had  taken: 
all  sorts  of  strange  liberties.  One  of  them  had 
availed  itself,  in  a  free  and  easy  manner,  of  the 
opening  made  by  a  broken  pane  of  glass  in  one 
of  the  windows  of  the  second  story,  and,  intruding 
into  a  bedroom,  astonished  every  spring  the  spiders, 
its  sole  inhabitants,  by  a  burst  of  greeu  leaves,  white 
blossoms,  and  delicious  perfume,  With  the  ex- 
ception of  this  broken  pane,  everything  in  the 
little  chAteau  was  hermetically  closed..  Thick  shut?- 
ters  protected  the  windows  of  the  first  story,  and 
heavy  iron  bars  those  of  the  ground-floor.    If  it  had 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


13 


Dot  been  for  that  aadacious  branch  of  acacia  and 
the  ^ass  growing  amongst  the  stones  of  the  pave- 
ment before  the  entrance-door,  it  might  have  been 
supposed  that  the  inhabitants  of  La  Pic^do  had 
only  left  it  a  few  days  aga 

The  grounds  evinced  the  contrary  even  nwre  than 
the  honse,  Thedricd-iip soil, covered  with  branches 
and  bindweed,  presented  the  most  desolate  appear- 
ance. A  fine  avenue  of  olive-trees,  which  led  from 
ihe  gate  to  tb.c  terrace,  some  few  peach  and  almond 
trees,  and  straggling  vines,  which  made  it  their 
bmsiness  to  strangle  the  fruit-trees  in  their  entan- 
gled knots,  aloiie  testified  tliat  the  place  had  been 
formerly  cared  for.  The  soil  of  Provence  is  unpro- 
duc'ive  when  left  to  itself.  To  make  it  fenile,  tw© 
things  are  required — ^labor  and  water.  For  sixteen 
years  La  Pin^e  had  been  left  without  the  benefi- 
cial ministratiiyns  of  spade  or  watering-pot. 

The  scene  above  described  mot  the  eyes  of  M, 
Lascalle  and  the  Baron  de  Croixfond  when,  after 
having  with  diflSculty  pushed  open  the  iron  gate, 
the  hinges  of  which  refused  to  do  their  part,  they 
walked  up  the  avenue,  arrived  in  front  of  the 
Chdteau  de  la  Pinede,  and,  by  means  of  another 
of  M.  Lescalle*s  heavy  bunch  of  keys,  entered  the 
house  «nd  found  themselves  in  a  large  hall  paved 
with  marble,  which  emitted  that  peculiar  odor  cf 
dust  and  decay  which  housekeepers  call  a  close 
smell.  M.  Lescalle  rushed  into  the  adjoining  sa- 
loon and  threw  open  the  windows.  The  gladsome 
morning  sunshine  flooded  suddenly  with  light  the 
long-closed  room,  and  the  two  men  looked  at  each 


!. 


■  ■  ■ 

A^ 

,i_ 

m 

-^9 

n 

•*• 

H 

^■ 


H 


The  Notary* s  Daughter. 


II  ! 


111! 


other  ia  silent  astonish mcnt.  The  pnDcipal  pieces 
of  furniture  were  grouped  round  t!je  chimney,  ia 
which  half-burnt  logs  of  wood  seemed  to-  be  wait- 
ing for  the  fire-tongs  to  rekindle  them. 

On  one  of  those  low  couches  which  used  to  be 
CiiUed  (xtuseu^es  some  tapestry  work  with  a  needle 
lianging  to  It,  and  an  unfolded  pocket  handker- 
chief, were  lying.  A  child's  table  standing  near 
tiiis  sofa  wag  covered  with  little  white  sheep  wear- 
ing pink  collars  and  fratcmiaing  with  lions,  woTveSy 
elephants,  and  letags  of  proportionate  size.  Shep- 
herdesses in  blue  gowns  and  huniers  in  led  coa's, 
resting  at  the  bottom  of  a  large  box  of  playthings, 
seemed  destined  to  join  that  hap]>y  family.  Tlie 
box  was  lying  open  on  the  couch  by  tlie  side  of  tl\e 
piece  of  work.  It  was  impossible  to  mi  take  the 
mother's  place  and  the  child's  place  in  that  room. 
Her  work  and  ita  play  seemed  only  just  interrupted. 
Whore  was  the  mother  ?  Was  she  not  about  to 
come  ill  ?  Where  was  the  child  ?  Would  not  the 
sound  of  its  laughing  voice  soon  ring  joyfully  on 
the  stairs  ?    No  ;  all  was  silent  as  ihe  grave. 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  with  that  sort 
of  sadness  which  is  sometimes  felt  at  the  sight  of 
an  empty  nest.  An  old  lawyer,  and  an  old  man  of 
the  world  I  There  must  have  been  a  strange  pathos 
in  that  room  to  have  thus  affected  them. 

On  the  corner  of  the  chimney  was  lying  a  dried- 
up  nosegay  of  violets,  which  t^ie  first  touch  would 
have  destroyed,  and  an  old  newspaper.  The  Baron 
de  Croixfonds  took  it  up  and  read  the  date — March 
7,  1819. 


•;: 


, . '    II, 


Pi 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


T5 


**Yes,  the  eve  of  the  anniversary  of  tlie  poor 
Countess  de  la  Pinede's  death/*  the  notary  observed. 

*'Oome,  Lejcallo,  give  me  some  account  of  it," 
the  baron  said,  resuming  his  usual  manner.  **  You 
keep  your  reminiscei^ces  as  closely  under  lock  and 
key  as  the  domain  of  L'v  Pi  node." 

**  I  had  made  a  promise  on  the  subject,"'  M.  Les- 
calle  answered  ;  **but  now,  unfortunately,  there  is 
no  reason  why  I  should  keep  it." 

''  Well,  then,  let  ns  break  the  seal  at  once,"  the 
bpron  said.  '*  I  like  family  histories,  and  I  sup- 
pose, as  there  was  so  much  secrecy  observed  in  this 
case,  that  this  one  must  have  some  peculiar  inte- 
rest.'*  As  lie  said  this  the  baron  stretched  himself 
at  full  length  on  the  sofa,  took  out  his  cigar-ease, 
and  assumed  a  listening  attitude. 

"  If  you  expect  some  complicated  or  extraordi- 
nary history,  your  curiosity  will  be  disappointed,** 
M.  Lescalle  answered.  "  The  state  in  which  you 
find  this  place — and  this  room,  in  which  everything 
tells  its  tale — reveals  the  dmple  fact  that  death 
snapped  the  thread  of  a  young  woman's  existence, 
and  doomed  the  life  which  was  bound  up  in  hers  to 
a  hopeless  sorrow/* 

**  1  know  the  fact,  but  I  want  to  hear  details.** 

"You  know,  I  suppose,  that  the  La  Pin^dee 
were  one  of  the  oldest  families  in  this  part  of  the 
country,  and  they  built  this  little  ehd.tran  in  the 
midst  of  this  pine  forest  when  Les  Trois  Tours, 
their  former  abode,  had  fallen  into  decay." 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard  all  that  ancient  history.  Bat 
what  was  their  position  in  more  recent  times  ?  ** 


li^il 


16 


The  Notary* s  Daughter. 


"  Thoj  did  not  g )  of  en  to  Paris  or  to  court,  but 
were  alwajs  very  popular  in  their  own  neighbor- 
hood, so  much  so,  that  they  remained  here  quite 
unmolested  through  the  whole  of  the  revolnti  .nary 
period.  The  court  party,  after  the  res' oration, 
never  forgave  their  not  having  emigrated." 

The  baron,  whose  family  had  emigrated,  looked 
displeased,  and  said  :  ''I  do  not  care  for  political 
details,  my  dear  Lc&calle.  Let  me  hear  their  do- 
mestic history/' 

*' Their  private  history,  M.  le  Baron,  was  closely 
councc  ed  with  what  I  have  just  told  you  aj  briefly 
as  I  could,  for  it  accounts  for  the  fact  that  Count 
Honore  de  la  Pinede  concentrated  his  existence  in 
the  narrow  circle  of  his  domestic  affections  and  his 
secluded  home.  One  so  young,  so  wealthy,  so  hand- 
Bome,  and  so  clever  would  certainly  have  played  a 
part  in  the  world  if  his  principles  during  the  em- 
pire, and  afterwards  a  sensitive  pride  resulting 
from  the  circumstances  I  have  al'.udcd  (o,  had  not 
kept  him  aloof  from  social  and  political  life.  He 
knew  the  Bourbons  were  not  favorably  inclined 
towards  him,  and  though  his  sympathies  were  Royal- 
ist, he  would  not  condescend  to  cun*v  favor  with 
them,  so  he  lived  entirely  in  the  country,  and  cared 
for  nothing  but  his  wife  and  his  home." 

"Whom  did  ho  marry?" 

"  His  cousin.  Mile,  de  la  Pin6dc.  They  had 
both  lost  their  parents  in  early  life,  and  had  been 
brought  up  by  an  old  childless  uncle.  From  the 
time  of  their  babyhood  ihey  had  cared  for  each 
other,  and  cared  for  haidly  any  one  else  besides.    It 


11!l"' 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


17 


was  ODc  of  those  eng  osiiug  affections  which  seemcl 
to  suv^ply  to  ihcm  both  the  place  of  all  other  ties. 
People  uspcl  to  say  that  these  children  realized  tho 
story  of  Paul  and  Virginia,  only  in  their  case  it 
ended  in  a  marriage.  When  Count  Honore  was 
twenty,  he  married  Mile.  Louise,  who  was  eighteen. 
They  had  one  child,  a  girl,  and  for  six  years  their 
happiness  knew  no  bounds ;  La  PincJe  seemed  an 
earthly  paradise.  But  in  one  day,  in  one  moment,  it 
came  to  an  end.  Madame  de  la  Pinedo  died  suddenly 
of  diicaso  of  the  heart.  Beautiful,  happy,  smiling, 
sitting  by  her  husband,  who  perfectly  adored  her, 
and  her  little  child  playing  at  her  feet,  she  expired  I  *' 

M.  Lescalle  paused  a  moment,  and  then,  pointing 
to  the  sofa,  said  :  ''1  see  it  all  before  my  eyes  as  I 
saw  it  then — her  lovely  face,  white  as  a  sheet  and 
sinking  on  her  bos^m,  her  hand  on  the  head  of  her 
child,  Count  Honore  on  his  knees,  trying  in  vain  to 
make  her  smell  salts,  and  looking  at  her  with  eyes 
which  seemed  to  grow  wild  with  terror  and  despair." 

"How  did  you  happen  to  witness  thisBCcne?" 
the  baron  asked. 

"  I  arrived  here  at  the  very  moment  it  took 
place,  having  called  to  talk  over  matters  of  business 
with  the  count.  As  I  opened  the  door  of  this  room 
I  saw  what  I  have  been  describing,  and  knew  at 
once  that  there  was  no  hope — that  all  was  over.  I 
dragged  the  poor  man  out  of  the  room.  He  seemed 
to  have  lost  bis  senses,  and  for  several  weeks  his 
friends  were  afraid  he  would  quite  go  out  of  his 
mind.  They  urged  him  to  leave  the  place,  and  at 
last,  for  the  sake  of  his  cbild,   he  consented  to  go 


iV: 


1 


lilT 


ini;!' 


!  i 


1-4 


liiiii 


i8 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


away.  But  before  his  departure  he  dismissed  all 
his  sej'vants,  even  the  gardener,  and  locked  up  the 
house  and  tho  gates  of  the  park.  Then  he  sent  for 
me,  gave  the  keys  into  my  keeping,  and  cxuctcd  a 
sjleiiin  promise  that  T  would  never  use  Ihom — n.  ver 
go  myself,  or  It  anybody  else  go.  to  Li  Pincdc.  It 
was  a  morbid  fancy  of  his  that  the  place  where  his 
"wife  had  been  born,  had  lived,  loved,  and  died 
should  remain  as  a  solitary  monument  to  her 
memory,  the  tomb  of  lis  past  happiness,  an  em- 
blem of  u.ter  desolation  and  perpe  ual  mourning. 
I  promised  to  attend  to  his  directi jns.  After  shak- 
ing hands  with  me,  Le  drove  away  with  his  child 
and  her  nurse.  For  the  sake  of  Mile.  Denise's 
education,  the  count  took  up  his  abode  in  Paris. 
For  the  last  Cftccn  years  he  has  always  spent  one 
wcpk  in  March  at  La  Pinedc.  For  eight  days  s'  ut 
op  in  solitude,  for  even  then  he  would  not  admit 
any  one  into  tho  place,  he  wandered  like  a  ghost 
about  the  honso  and  grounds.  People  about  here 
think  ho  was  out  of  liis  mind,  and  lament  that  this 
ancient  family  should  have  ended  so  sadly.  The 
last  time  he  came  he  looked  deplorably  ill,  and 
spoke  of  his  failing  health.  I  tried  to  cheer  him 
«23,  and  advise  1  him  to  try  some  waters.  lie  smiled 
in  a  mouriiful  manner,  and  said,  *  My  good  friend, 
the  wound  has  never  healed.  It  ii  m  t  waters  that 
can  cure  a  broken  bearL  Do  not  look  at  mo  so 
sadly.  Firteon  years  ago  I  was  indeed  to  bo  pitied  ; 
but  now  Cod  has  been  good  to  mc,  and  ray  release 
is  at  hand.  I  am  happier  than  I  have  been  for  a 
long  time  past.    My  sufferings  will  £oon  be  over.' 


:13 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


19 


"  'But  Mile.  D  iHHe,'  I  eaid,  'you  ought  lo  wish 
to  live  for  her  sak- .' 

"  *  Ah  I  my  lit:tle  girl,*  he  said,  with  some  emo- 
tion.    '  God  will  take  c  ire  of  Denisc* 

"  God,  you  sec,  was  so  much  in  his  thoughts,  M. 
le  Baron,  that  I  took  it  as  a  had  sigu,  and  tliough  I 
said  all  I  could  to  make  him  more  cheerful,  I  felt 
sure  he  would  die  soon,  and  so  it  turned  out. 
Three  months  afterwards  I  received  the  ne«V3  of  his 
death,  and  then  Mile,  de  la  Pinede,  by  the  advice 
of  her  guardian,  M.  Legrand,  made  up  her  mind  to 
sell  t'lis  place.  He  has  never  been  to  see  it,  this 
tine  Paris  gentleman,  and  he  does  not  know  that  its 
value  has  considerably  increased  si  .ice  the  new  road 
to  Maricilles  has  been  made.  I  painted  in  some- 
what high  colors  the  deplorable  sta'c  in  wl^ich 
Count  Ilonore's  morbid  fancy  has  allowed  the  pro- 
perty to  fall,  and  eo  we  arrived  at  a  valuation  which 
has  placed  it  within  reach  of  your  son's  means." 

"In  case  we  have  no  serious  competitors,"  the 
baron  replied  ;  "but  that  M.  de  —  IIow  do  you 
call  him  ?" 

"M.  de  Vedelles." 

"  Well,  that  M.  de  Vedelles,  who  falls  upon  us 
from  the  skies,  is  a  great  bore." 

"  I  did  my  best.  The  sale  has  scarcely  been  ad- 
vertised at  all  at  Marseilles — only  for  the  last  eight 
days,  so  that  there  has  been  hardly  time  for  any  one 
to  know  of  it — but  this  purchaser  writes  from 
Paris." 

"  And  how  on  earth  did  he  hear  of  it  there  ?" 
the  baron  exclaimed. 


'  I 


y 


■- 1 


20 


Tlie  Notary's  Daughter, 


n 


Ok!  in  a  very  simple  manner.  Mile,  do  la 
PineJo  has  been  cdacatetl  at  the  Convent  of  the 
Saci'L-d  Heart,  and  the  Countess  de  Vedelles  Tisit^ 
the  ladies  there,  and  made  acquainta'.co  Tvith  the 
heiress,  and  thej  Lave  laid  their  heads  togetlier  on 
the  subject.     It  was  impossible  to  foresee  this." 

**  It  is  the  dev.l  to  pay  I  "  the  barun  cried.  "  If 
they  bid  more  than  two  hundred  thoa:and  francs* 
we  shall  have  to  give  it  up.  Even  witli  my  brother's 
assistance,  and  by  getting  intj  debt,  we  cannot  go 
beyond  that  price.** 

"  It  is  a  great  pity,"  the  solicitor  said. 

There  was  rather  a  long  pause,  and  then  in  a 
hesitating  manner  he  added,  "  There  might  per- 
haps bo  a  way  in  which  the  matter  could  be  ar- 
ranged." 

"What  way?" 

** Under  certain  circumstances  it  would  bo  in  my 
power  to  place  fifty  thousand  francs  at  M.  Cesaire*s 
disposal. " 

"Could  you  really,  Lcscalle  ?"  the  baron  anx- 
iously enquired. 

"  But  then  you  see,  M.  le  Baron,"  the  solicitor 
replied,  speaking  slowly  and  laying  an  emphasis  on 
the  words—"  you  see  that  sum  constitutes  a  consid- 
erable portion  of  my  daughter's  fortune,  and  Rose 
is  growing  up." 

"Ch  !  ib  is  your  daughter's  fortune  you  are 
speaking  of.  Then  iu  that  case — "  The  baron 
did  not  finish  his  sentence,  but  there  was  a  look  in 
his  face  which  meant,  "  We  need  not  eay  anything 
more  about  it." 


^5 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


2X 


"  Can  you  reckon  on  your  electors  ?"  M.  Lescallo 
asked. 

"  Yes,  I  think  so.  I  have  no  anxiety  on  that 
point." 

"  If  we  come  to  an  agreement,  I  might  secure 
you  a  certain  number  of  votes." 

**  Oh  I  pray  do  so.  We  cannot  afford  to  neglect 
any  cht»,nce." 

"It  wcnld  be  rather  a  serious  thing  for  me,  how- 
ever," the  lawyer  answered.  ''  You  see  I  cannot 
throw  over  the  party  which  supports  Richer  de 
M  )ntlouis,  unl  ss  I  had  a  good  reason  for  it." 

*' Always  o  i  Mile.  Rose's  account  ?  "  the  baron 
asked,  in  a  slightly  sa  irical  tone. 

"  Yes,  M.  le  Biron,  I  am  quite  above-board  with 
you.  I  do  not  mind  showing  you  the  cards.  Arte- 
mon  Richer — '' 

"De  Montlouis,"  the  baron  sneeringly  added. 

"  Art6mon  Richer  seems  inclined  to  pay  his  ad- 
dresses to  Rose,  and,  upon  my  word,  he  is  so  good 
a  match  that  I  am  not  inclined  to  put  a  spoke  in 
the  wheel  by  quarrelling  with  his  fa.nily  and  oppos- 
ing the  election  of  his  uncle." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  would  give 
your  daughter  to  that  heavy  dolt  of  a  man,  who  is 
always  lounging  in  the  Maminets?** 

"  No',  if  I  could  find  a  better  match  for  her,"  the 
solicitor  answered,  "  but—" 

The  baron  snatched  up  his  hat  and  walked  out 
of  the  house  into  the  avenue.  He  was  determined 
not  to  look  as  if  he  understood.  M.  Lescalle  drop- 
ped the  subject,  and  the  two  gentlemen  walked 


22 


The  Nj'ary's  Daughter, 


about  tho  place  calculating  the  worth  of  each  acre 
of  land,  and  exulting  over  tlie  neglect  in  whicli 
everything  was  left,  which  certainly  did  seem  likely 
to  disgust,  any  one  who  should  visit  it  before  pur- 
chasing. 

When  this  sort  of  approximate  valuation  was  con- 
cluded, they  went  b^cli  t3  t  lop^ace  wherj  Silphide 
was  leisurely  grazing  at  the  fo  )t  of  the  Sugar  loaf 
Fi!l.  The  baron  mounted  his  steed  a:.d  turned  irs 
head  towards  Croixfonds.  The  solicitor  walked  by 
hii  side  for  a  few  minutes,  talking  over  so.kc  of  the 
details  connected  wiJi  Li  P. node,  jind  t  en  some- 
what abruptly  s.iid,  "I  am  very  much  afraid  that 
M.  Cesaire  will  not  be  elected." 

Without  giving  tlie  biron  time  to  answer,  bo 
bowed  nd  left  him,  and  as  lie  hastened  home,  with 
tho  fear  of  Madame  Lescalle  before  his  eyes,  who 
could  not  bear  to  be  k«'pt  waiting  for  breakfast,  the 
little  man  murmured  between  his  teeih,  "That old 
aristocrat !  I  hope  he  uuderctands  that  I  can  spoil 
his  game." 

M.  de  Oroixfonds  meanwhile  was  making  the  fol- 
lowing mental  ejaculations  :  "  The  presumption  of 
theso  low-born  people  is  becoming  quite  intolerable.  . 
To  think  of  this  vulgar  attorney's  vcniiuring  to  offer 
me  bis  daughter  for  my  son  I  And  now  I  suppose 
he  will  turn  against  us  \  But  someliow  or  other 
Cosaire  must  bo  elected."  Ilis  pride  and  his  ambi- 
tion pulling  in  different  directions,  tho  descendant 
of  King  Rent's  frieiad  went  homo  in  a  very  Ijtd  " 
humor. 

Three  weeks  afterwards  the  Oorate  do  V6delle8 


The  Notary's  Daughter » 


n 


became  the  owner  of  La  Pin«de.  A  bid  of  iwenty 
thousand  francs  beyond  the  sam  the  baron  could 
produce  settled  the  matter.  When  M.  de  Croixfonds 
was  informed  of  this  result  he  fJt  almost  sorry  tliut 
he  had  so  decidedly  snubbed  M.  Lescalle's  proposal, 
for  unless  his  son  could  purchase  a  })roperty  in  that 
part  of  the  country  he  would  not  be  eligible,  and, 
as  M.  Lescalle  took  care  tc  point  out,  this  was  not 
An  easy  thing  in  an  old-fushioned  locality  where 
estates  did  not  often  change  hands,  the  baron 
knew  perfectly  well  that  this  was  the  case  ;  to  re- 
mind him  of  it  was  like  handling  a  smarting  wound. 
It  was  with  difficulty  that  he  concealed  his  vexa- 
tion. 


llilif 


111 


m  ■ 


lilHl 


n'f'i 


I 


CHAPTER  II. 

TUE  JPAMILY  OF  DE  VEDELLiiiS. 

\ 

The  Comte  de  VctUUes  and  his  family  arrived 
at  La  Pineuo  at  the  end  of  April,  just  at  that  mo- 
ment fio  delightful  in  Provence,  when  the  full 
burst  of  a  southern  spring  adorns  the  whole  land- 
Bcape  with  a  profusion  of  flowers  ;  the  blossoms 
of  the  peach  and  almond  trees  clothe  the  country 
in  pink  and  white ;  the  yellow  stock,  t];e  purple 
irie,  the  blue  salvia,  the  red  valerian,  and  the  wild 
v'ne  cover  every  bill  with  a  rich  mantle  of  gorgeous 
colors,  fringe  every  wall  with  bright  tufts  of  wav- 
ing beauty,  and  embalm  the  air  with  an  inde- 
fcribable  perfume.  Tlie  days  were  mild  and  lovely, 
but  the  evenings  sometimes  very  cold — thanks  to 
the  mistral,  that  terrible  bane  of  the  Provenyal 
climate. 

One  night  that  this  rough  enemy  was  blowing 
with  virulence  and  had  prevented  the  usual  stroll 
after  dinner,  three  of  the  new  inhabitants  of  La 
Pinede  were  sitt^'^ig  round  the  chimney,  where 
some  pine-logs  and  burning  c  nes  were  diff!:sing 
their  fragrant  perfume  and  not  unwelcome  heat. 
These  t'lree  perse r  a  were  the  Count  and  Counters 
de  V^delles  and  their  joungcst  son,  Jacques  d© 

U 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


25 


Vedelles.  The  count  was  reading  in  a  huge  arm- 
chair, ihe  counteso  working  at  a  piece  of  tapestry, 
Jiicqnes,  half- sitting,  half-lying  on  a  couch  near 
Lis  mother,  poked  tlie  fire  and  watched  the  sparks 
as  they  flew  up  the  chimney  with  an  absent  expres 
sion  of  countenauco  which  betokened  either  an  idle 
or  a  dreamy  state  of  mind,  which  is  by  no  meaiiS 
the  same  thing. 

For  Eome  time  no  one  spoke.  The  great  buhl 
clock  ticked,  the  logs  crackled,  the  wind  made 
strange  noises  amongst  the  pine-trees. 

At  last  Madame  de  Vedelles  dropped  a  ball  of 
worsted,  and  as  her  son  stooped  to  pick  it  up  she 
whi  pered  to  him,  "  Is  George  still  out  of  doors  ?" 

"  I  suppose  so,"  Jacques  answered  in  the  same 
low  voice.  Madame  do  Vedelles  sighed,  and  an- 
other long  silence  ensued. 

Though  she  had  not  meant  her  question  to  be 
heard,  it  had  apparently  caught  her  husband's  ear, 
for  he  rang  the  bell,  aiid  soon  the  wrinkled  face 
and  grey  head  of  old  Vincent  appeared  at  the 
door. 

*' la  M.  George  at  home?"  the  count  asked, 
without  raising  his  eyes  from  his  book. 

"  M.  George  is  finishing  his  supper  ir  the  little 
dining-room.  He  has  made  a  very  good  meal  of 
it,"  the  old  man  added  in  a  significant  manner, 
and,  almost  before  he  had  finished  his  sentence, 
George  de  Vedelles  came  into  the  room. 

Though  he  was  twenty,  his  figure  was  so  slight 
and  his  appearance  so  youtliful  that  he  did  not 
look  more  than  seven 'ecn  or  eighteen  years  of  age. 


:'l 


26 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


fftiifii 


iiiliil  ii 


ii  ! 
'  ■  i! 


The  pciiect  symmetry  of  his  features  and  the 
whiteness  of  his  face  gave  it  the  appearance  of  a 
marble  hust.  It  was  only  in  his  eyes  tliat  there 
was  any  animation.  They  were  dark,  sparkling, 
and  y(t  soft ;  their  dreamy,  absent  expressi-  n 
added  to  the  peculiarity  of  this  young  man's  coun- 
tenince. 

George's  dress,  unlike  that  of  the  rest  of  the 
family,  betokened  neglect.  He  had  ou  that  even- 
ing a  shooti  g  jacket  and  trousers  much  the  worse 
for  wear,  heavy  leathern  gaiters,  and  thick,  clumsy 
shoes.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  fineness  of  lis  linen 
and  his  white  and  well-shaped  hands,  he  might  have 
been  taken  for  a  young  gamekeeper. 

After  he  had  made  a  bow  to  his  father  and 
kissed  his  mother's  hand,  he  sat  down  on  the 
couch  beside  his  brother.  As  he  did  so  and 
turned  lo;\ards  him,  a  bright  smile  lightCv^  up 
his  face,  but  only  for  a  minute. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing,  George  ? "  the 
coui.t  asked.  "Why  did  you  not  come  home  ia 
time  for  dinnei  ?" 

*'I  have  been  out  scooting  all  day,"  was  the 
answer;  "and  it  was  later  than  I  thought  when  I 
Ci'me  back." 

"*  We  may  conclude,  then,  that  you  have  brought 
home  plenty  of  game." 

"  The  season  is  very  bad,  and  game,  I  fancy, 
scarce  in  this  neighborhood." 

'^Then  wliy  are  you  always  going  out  shooting  ? 
What  an  absurd  fancy  it  is  to  bo  walking  about  all 
day  with  a  gun  on  your  shoulder  without  object  or 


The  Notary s  Daughter. 


V 


result/'  Gecrge  made  no  iinawer,  and  pLiyod  with 
the  ears  of  a  fine  spaniel  which  had  followed  him 
into  the  room.  M.  de  Vedtlles  went  on.  **  It  was 
jii3t  the  same  at  Valscc,  where  there  was  plenty  of 
game  of  eviry  sorr.  You  do  not  choose  to  ex- 
ert yourself  even  as  to  idle  sports.  You  never 
mike  an  effort  even  for  the  sake  of  amuseme  'fc. 
Yon  will  always  remain  a  listless,  unsociable, obsti- 
nate dreamer."  ^ 

"  But  my  excursions  amuse  me,"  George  replied, 
"even  thoug »  I  do  not  shoot  much,  and  I  think 
they  are  good  for  my  health." 

"  Health,  always  health  \ "  the  count  exclaimed  5 
**  that  is  the  excuse  for  everything.  I  am  getting 
tired  of  it." 

**  But,  my  dear,  if  these  long  walks  strengthen 
him,"  Madame  de  Vedelles  said. 

**  He  seems  strong  enough  now,"  the  count  re- 
joined. *'It  would  be  well  to  think  of  the  im- 
provement <»f  his  mind.  Come,  George,"  he  added 
in  a  kinder  manner,  "can't  you  resume  a  littlo 
your  course  of  studies  ?  Jacques  would  direct  and 
help  you." 

"Pray  dj  not  talk  of  that,  my  dear  father.  I 
cannot  work  my  h<ad.  I  tried  to  look  into  the 
books  Jacques  leiit  me,  but  I  could  make  no  hiug 
of  them." 

"Don't  you  understand  what  you  read?"  Ma- 
dame de  Vedelles  asiied. 

"Sometimes  I  do,  and  sometimes  I  don't,  mo- 
ther.    But  I  hate  study  ;  it  tries  my  head." 

"  Astronomy  is,  perhaps,  your  favorite  pursuit," 


1 1  •  i 


L  -Ij 


28 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


M.  de  Vedelles  sneeringly  remarked.  "  I  saw  you 
yesterday  walking  up  and  down  the  avenue  with 
your  nose  in  the  air,  star-gazing,  I  presume." 

"  Oh !  yes ;  I  like  to  look  at  the  sky  j  it  is  so 
beautiful." 

"Then  I  hope  your  memory  is  returning.  Do 
you  ^.id  that  you  recollect  the  names  of  the  con- 
stellations ?  If  I  remember  right,  you  had  at  col- 
lege the  first  prize  for  cosmography." 

"  Oh  !  that  was  before  my  illness,  father,  and  I 
have  forgotten  the  names  thoy  gave  to  my  dear, 
beau^^iful  stars.  Kow  I  can  only  look  at  them  and 
feel  giad  that  God  made  them." 

M.  de  Vedelles  looked  disappointed,  and  sighed. 
His  wife,  who  wished  to  interrupt  the  conversation, 
turned  to  her  eldest  son  and  said,  "  Dear  Jacques, 
will  you  read  us  something  aloud  ?" 

**Yes,  mother.  "What  shall  I  read  ?  I  have 
got  here  '  Valentine,'  a  novel  of  George  Sand's,  and 
'  Sous  les  Tilleuls,'  by  Alphonse  Karr." 

**  Novels  ?*'  M'idame  de  Vedelles  said.  "  What 
sort  of  novels  are  they  ?  " 

"An  amubing  sort,  I  suppose,"  Jacques  answer- 
ed, "for  they  are  very  popular,  and  people  do  not 
generally  care  for  tiresome  books." 

"  But  are  they  good  books  to  read  ?"  Madame 
de  Vedelles  again  enquired. 

"  You  need  not  take  the  trouble  to  ask,"  her 
husband  said  ;  "  the  names  of  the  a^^thors  are 
enough." 

"I  know  nothing  about  them." 

"  Well,  I  will  tell  you  what  they  are,"  the  old 


i 


The  Notarfs  Daughter, 


29 


count  rejoined.  "They  are  writers  who  seek  for 
subjoc  s  of  intereut  amidst  the  foulest  scenes  of 
human  depravity,  and  exhibit  the  worst  passions 
of  human  nature  under  the  fairest  and  most  de- 
ceitful garb.  M.  Karr  and  Madame  Sand  hold  a 
high  rank  in  this  inleUectual  orgy,  which  would 
ond  by  utterly  dishonoiing  literature  in  France,  if, 
like  all  other  orgies,  it  was  not  doomed  lobe  short- 
lived and  to  die  of  its  own  excesses." 

**  You  are  very  severe,  father,  on  these  poor  au- 
thors," Jacques  said.  "  If  they  had  appeared  be- 
fore you  when  you  sat  on  the  bench,  they  would 
have  found  no  mercy  at  your  hands." 

*' I  should  have  made  short  work  with  them," 
the  old  count  answered,  and  then,  turning  to  hia 
wife,  he  said,  *'I  suppose  you  do  not  wish  Jacques 
to  read  to  us  such  books  as  those,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,"  she  replied.  "  Can  you  suggest 
an}  thing  we  should  like  to  hear  ?" 

"Wliy  not  one  bf  the  chef-d^oeuvres  of  our 
old  literature  ?  "  the  count  said,  taking  up  from 
the  table  a  volume  of  Voltaire's  tragedies. 

Be  it  remarked  that  the  old  man,  who  had  so 
justly  and  vehemently  denounced  the  immoral 
writer?!  of  his  day,  shared  that  unaccountable  par- 
tiality for  the  wickedest,  the  meanest,  and  the 
most  unpatriotic  Frenchman  of  the  last  century 
which  lingers  still  in  the  minds  of  so  many  of  his 
compatriots,  even  in  those  who,  to  a  certain 
degree,  have  struggled  out  of  the  mists  of  cynical 
unbelief  with  which  he  has  poisoned  the  souls  of 
BUcccBsive  generutioDs.     M.  de  Yedelles  was  of  the 


i  1 


30 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


number  of  those  who  had  imbibed  from  the  teach- 
ing of  the  eighteenth  century  a  practical  scepti- 
cism, if  the  two  words  can  be  united,  which, 
though  not  obtrusively  put  forward,  nevertheless 
influenced  his  thoughts  and  actions  in  various  re- 
spects. He  was  a  Royalist,  a  Conservative,  and 
the  husband  of  a  pious  woman.  For  all  these  rea- 
sons he  always  spoke  of  nligion  with  respect,  and 
he  abhorred  modern  infidelity  and  lawlessness. 
But  his  secret  sympathy  with  Voltaire  and  his 
school  sometimes  pierced  through  his  political  and 
dome-tic  code  of  religious  propriety,  and  Jacques 
de  Vedelles,  in  spi:e  of  his  motl.er's  efforts,  had  de- 
rived from  his  father  opinions  which  he  more  bold- 
ly announced  and  acted  upon  more  consistently 
when  not  under  the  paternal  roof. 

Thougli  a  general  admiration  for  Voltaire  wac 
amongst  the  halfinvoiunfary  influences  which  the 
count  had  exercised  over  the  mind  of  his  son,  the 
proposal  to  read  aloud  *•  Merope  "  did  not  particu- 
larly charm  him.  He  made,  however,  no  difficulty 
on  the  fcubject,  and,  drawing  a  chair  close  to  the 
table  where  his  mother  was  working,  he  began  to 
i-ead  that  somewhat  dull  but  fine  tragedy. 

Jacques  >ias  gifted  with  a  melodious  voice  and  a 
great  talent  for  reading.  His  father  listened  to 
him  with  delight,  and  his  mother  as  if  she  was 
hearing  the  most  exquisite  music.  George,  before 
ihe  end  of  the  first  act,  was  fast  asleep.  The 
Count  de  V^dellcs  kept  glancing  at  the  couch  in  a 
contemptuous  manner.  At  ten  o'clock  every  one 
rose  a»3d  went  to  bed.     Passing  before  his  slumber- 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


31 


ing  son,  M.  de  Vedellfis  said  to  his  wife,  **  And 
you  try  to  make  uc  believe  that  he  has  a  taste  for 
poetry  ?  " 

"  The  poor  child  is  tired,"  she  said  ;  **  look  how 
pale  he  is  !  '* 

"Oil  1  I  know  that  yon  can  always  find  excuses 
for  him  ;  but  really  be  cannot  go  on  leading  this 
kind  of  life.  Only  see  in  what  a  way  he  is  dressed  ; 
those  din y  shoes  at'd  worn-out  clothes  make  him 
look  like  a  poacher  just  escaped  from  the  hands  of 
the  gendarmes." 

"I  will  speak  to  him  about  it  to  morrow,"  Ma- 
dame de  Vcdelles  gently  said. 

During  this  conversation  Jacques  had  roused 
his  brother,  and  was  whispering  to  him  something 
he  did  not  seem  to  understand.. 

On  the  first  floor  of  the  chdteau  there  was  a 
square  ante-room,  with  four  doors  opening  into 
different  apartments.  After  the  count  and  count- 
ess had  gone  into  their  rooms,  Jacques  stopped  his 
brother,  who  was  going  up  the  staircase  to  the  next 
story,  and  said  : 

"You  really  must  attend,  George,  to  our  father's 
wishes.  lie  gets  quite  angry  with  you.  You  ought 
to  have  more  sense.  " 

"What  sense?"  George  asked,  having  heard 
only  the  last  word  of  his  bi*other's  sentence, 

"  The  senbs  to  behave  like  other  people." 

"  I  do  not  see  what  harm  I  do  to  anybody." 

"That  is  not  the  question.  It  is  your  duty  to 
obey  yonr  parents;  and  your  way  of  going  on> 
though  it  may  not  d  >  them  harm,  displeases  your 


n 


tl 


w 


^% 


i\A 


32 


The  Notary's  DaugJUer, 


i  i 


father.  Do  tiy,  George,  to  acquire  the  habits  of  a 
gentleman.  You  are  now  twenty,  and  after  all  you 
are  the  Baron  de  Vedelles." 

"  I  do  not  care  whether  I  am  or  not,"  George 
answered.  "  Come,  Jacques,  please  do  not  preach 
to  me.  You  used  not  to  do  so,  but  now  everybody 
triea  a  hand  aL  it;  even  old  Vincent,  whilst  1 
was  at  supper,  kept  grumbling  at  something  or 
other,  I  don^t  know  what,  for  I  was  not  listening. 
Really,  people  might  leave  me  alone." 

"  Poor  follow  !"  Jacques  said  to  himself,  "  it  is 
impossible  tf  make  an  impression  upon  him.  We 
must  be  indulgent  to  his  iufiimitiee." 

And  there  the  conversation  ended.  The  bro- 
thers shook  hands  ;  Jacques  went  into  his  hand- 
some, well  furnished  bed-room  on  the  first  floor, 
and  George  to  a  sort  of  large  lumber-room  up- 
stairs, which  he  had  made  choice  of  as  his  sleep- 
ing chamber,  after  obtaining  leave  from  his  mother 
to  arrange  it  as  he  pleased. 

One  of  his  fancies  had  been  to  divide  and  sub- 
divide this  room  by  means  of  curtains  hanging  on 
rods,  made  with  pieceb  of  tapestiy  which  used  to 
cover  the  walls  of  the  rooms  below  before  the 
house  had  been  refurnished  and  silk  substituted 
in  their  place.  These  ancient  hangings  represent- 
ed a  variety  of  scriptural,  historical,  mythological, 
hunting,  and  pastoral  scenes.  Though  faded  and 
worn  out,  they  were  still  very  handsome  even 
when  seen  by  daylight  j  and  in  the  evening,  in  the 
faint,  vacillating  light  afforded  by  a  single  candle, 
they  seemed  to  assume  all  sorts  of  strange,  fantas- 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


33 


tic  shapes — white  plumes  nodded  on  the  helmets 
of  the  knights  ;  horses  advanced  against  a  wild  boar 
standing  at  bay  surrounded  by  a  pack  of  hounds  ; 
Abraham's  sword  seemed  to  descend  towards  the 
form  of  his  son  bound  to  the  altar  of  sacrifice ; 
knights,  hunters,  and  patriarchs  looked  as  if  they 
were  carrying  on  mysterious  interviews ;  and  a 
crowd  of  scriptural  and  legendary  personages  rose 
from  the  canvas  like  figures  in  a  dream. 

George  evidently  tc<"l;  pleasure  in  living 
amongst  these  shadowy  apparitions,  for  he  often 
went  up  to  his  room  before  bed- time,  and  his 
mother  liad  sometimes  found  him  in  a  fit  of  itb- 
straction,  silently  gazing  on  the  face  of  Rebecca  at 
the  we'l  or  ihe  holy  Queen  Bertha. 

There  was  nothing  in  that  room  which  deserved 
to  be  called  furniture,  except  a  bed,  a  dressing- 
table,  and  a  few  chairs.  In  one  corner  stood  an 
old  lacquered  harpsichord,  which  had  once  made 
the  happiness  of  some  ancestress  of  the  Pinedes, 
but  had  been  consigned  to  oblivion  for  many  a  long 
year.  George  had  ruthlessly  torn  out  of  it  the  re- 
maining strings,  and  turned  the  case  into  a  re- 
ceptacle for  shells,  and  pebbles,  and  dried  flowers. 
Planks,  supported  by  tressels,  and  covered  with 
shreds  of  tapestry,  did  duty  for  a  table,  on  whicl* 
heaps  of  books  were  lying  in  a  hopeless  confusion. 
Old  Vincent  had  vainly  asked  leave  to  sort  and  ar- 
range them.  It  was  just  over  this  disorderly  libra- 
ry that  the  branch  of  acacia  from  the  terrace  ex- 
tended its  green  foliage  and  white  flowers.  George 
wouM  not  allow  it  to  be  cut  off  or  meddled  with. 


II 


34 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


He  said  it  was  the  nicest  pirce  of  furniture  in  bis 
room.  An  old  easel,  a  fiddle,  and  two  or  three 
box*  s  containing  unfiniahed  sketclies,  and  all  sorts 
of  odds  and  ends,  completed  the  s'ngnlor  medley 
of  t>  ings  whicl)  filkd  thif>  straitge  bed-chamber. 

About  an  hour  after  ne  had  gone  to  his  room, 
but  not  to  bed,  and  wh?ki  the  lights  in  the  ch&teaa 
i^ere  all  pat  out,  George  do  Vedelles  softly  opened 
his  door  and  went  down  stairs.  lie  stood  an  in- 
stant on  the  landing  place  of  the  first  floor,  and 
listened  to  ascertain  that  no  one  was  stirring.  All 
was  quiet,  and  he  went  on,  first  to  feel  for  his 
shooting-jacket,  which  he  had  left  on  the  couch  of 
the  dining-room,  and  baying  found  it,  crossed  the 
vestibule  and  let  himself  out  by  the  front  door, 
which  he  carefully  locked.  Once  in  ihe  avenue  he 
ran  on  towards  the  gak-,  opened  it  in  tl.c  same 
noiseless  manner,  and  then  dashed  down  a  little 
path  Y  hich  led  through  the  olive  !i  oods  to  the 
sea. 


ydrg 


*»««<» 


c^^)-^. 


CHAPTER  III. 


VISITORS. 

On  the  folio  .ving  day  t^ie  weather  was  beautiful. 
A  mild  shower  in  tlie  tiight  liad  softtued  the  air, 
the  sliort-lived  violeuce  of  tlie  raistra'i  had  not  too 
roughly  shaken  the  clouds  of  snowy  blossoms,  and 
the  sua  was  forcing  open  the  orange-buds.  Bui*st- 
i  ig  on  every  side,  ibcy  filled  the  air  with  perfume. 
Everywhere  the  gardeners  hastened  to  disengage 
tlie  trees  from  the  straw  clothing  which  protects 
them  during  the  cold  weither.  Spring  had  gained 
the  victory,  and  was  triumphing  over  winter. 

The  count's  family  were  sitting  at  breakfast.  As 
a  rulo,  sil  nee  prevailed  during  that  meal.  He  read 
the  Paris  aewgpiipcrs;  George,  who  was  sitting 
opposite  the  window,  ate  i.ea>tily,  and  stared  at  ti.e 
flower-beds ;  Madame  de  Vedelles  now  and  then 
Slid  a  few  wcrds  to  Jacques,  who  v^as  sit'ing  near 
her,  and  consiUed  him  about  points  relating  to  the 
furnishing  of  Li  Pmcde.  A  difference  of  opinion 
arose  on  t'e  subject  of  the  relative  merits  of  dimity 
and  clunlz.  Jacques  advised  chintz  for  the  chair- 
covnrs  in  the  drawing-room.  Madame  de  Vudeiles, 
faithful  to  the  traditions  of  the  Restoration,  in- 
clined to  dimity.  | 

3« 


r'-t, 


If  r 


Illill  ii 


•■"  !i  f! 


wim  111 


'i  t 


36 


T//e  Notary s  Daughter. 


The  count  was  appealed  to,  i.id  also  voted  for 
dimity  ;  the  coantess,  tlins  remaining  mistross  of 
the  field,  told  Jacques,  to  comfort  him,  tliat  she 
meant  to  put  chintz  in  his  room. 

'•  Oh  !  it  is  not  worth  while  to  do  that,  dear 
mother,"  he  answered. 

"  What  I  sit  on  Utrecht  velvet  all  the  summer, 
Jacques,"  she  answered,  *'  and  in  Provence  too ;  I 
cannot  think  of  such  a  thinf^ !" 

"  That  is  not  what  I  meant,"  he  replied  ;  "hut 
as  I  shall  not  be  here  more  than  a  few  days,  it  really 
would  be  useless  to  go  to  that  expense." 

Madame  de  Vedelles'  countenance  fell, 
not  know  you  were  going  away,"  she  said. 

"  Has  not  my  father  told  you  ?" 


I  did 


(I 


N 


(). 


.'J 


**I  meant  to  speak  to  you  about  it  ihi^  very  day, 
ra^  dear,"  (he  count  said,  looking  up  from  his 
newspaper.  ''Jacques  is  anxious  to  go  ^*ack  to 
Paris,  and  I  think  he  is  quite  right.  He  is  losing 
time  here,  and  time  is  precious." 

"I  suppose  he  is  bored  here,"  Madame  de  V^- 
dellea  said,  scarcely  able  to  suppress  her  tears 

"  Oh  I  y  -u  must  not  say  that,  dear  little  mother," 
Jacques  exclaimed,  as  he  affectionately  kissed  her 
ha'  d. 

*'  And  if  ho  was  bored  here,"  the  count  rejoined, 
**  if  this  sort  of  idle  life  in  the  country  did  n  .t  buit 
him,  I  should  not  blame  him  in  the  hast.  It  is  a 
proper  sort  of  life  for  an  old  man  of  my  oge  who 
wants  rest  and  solitude ;  but  at  Jucques'  age  a 
man  must  tfiink  of  the  future,  and  devote  himself 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


37 


Mi 


to  his  profession.  Jacques  lias  abilities  which  will 
secure  success  in  any  line  he  follows.  He  has 
studied  for  the  bar.  He  has  a  decided  talent  for 
speaking,  but  it  is  not  by  walking  about  a  park 
that  he  will  acquire  reputation,  or  by  living  at  home 
that  he  will  prepare  for  himself  future  elec'ors." 

*'  But,  my  dear,  iho  election  which  they  are  so 
excited  about  here  takes  place  in  two  months  I  *' 

"  I  am  not  talking  of  municipal  elections.  I 
mean  the  approaching  general  elections,  Vthere  I 
hope  to  see  Jacques  cut  a  considerable  figure.  But 
for  that  end.  it  is  nee  ssaiy  to  take  measures  bef  re- 
hand,  and  to  acquire  a  well  known  name ;  that 
once  secured,  all  the  rest  will  easily  follow." 

"  Do  you  really  think  so,''  Madame  de  Vedelles 
exclaimed,  quite  electrified  at  the  prospect. 
**  George  !  only  think  if  your  brother  was  to  be  cne 
day  a  deputy  !   Would  not  that  be  a  great  hon  >r  ?  '* 

"A  great  honor  indeed,  mother,"  George  re- 
plied, helping  himself  meanwhile  to  some  more 
chicken. 

**  Are  you  appealing  to  George  on  the  subject  ?  " 
the  c  >uut  bitterly  asked.  "  Do  you  suppose  he  has 
any  ambition  for  his  brother  ?  Would  he  had  a 
spark  of  it  for  himself  ! " 

George  took  no  noiice  of  his  father's  sneering  re- 
mark, and  breakfast  ended  in  silence. 

As  Madame  de  Vedelles  rose  from  the  table  she 
looked  out  of  the  window  and  saw  three  persons 
walking  up  tin  avenue.  *•  Hero  is  company,"  ahe 
said.  "  Jacques,  can  you  make  out  who  t'ey  are  ?  I 
do  not  feci  as  if  I  hud  over  seen  these  people  before." 


)  \ 


\  ■ 


\  I  ■ 


UJ 


-fi 


38 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


I  III 


Jacques  lookeJ  and  ans^vered  :  *''It  )i  M.  Tous- 
saint  Lesciklle,  mothi  r,  ^i  Ji  his  wife  aud  daughter." 

"  Yes,  it  must  be  Lescalle,'*  the  count  said.  "  I 
sent  for  him  about  some  business  matters,  but  I 
wonder  why  he  brings  his  family  here.  Does  lie 
suppose  that  we  are  to  be  on  a  footing  of  intimacy 
with  them  ?  " 

As  soon  as  his  mother  utered  the  word  "com- 
pany "  George  liad  disappeared.  In  the  meantime 
t'ae  visit  rs  had  been  shown  in:o  the  vestibule. 
Madame  de  Vedelles  came  there  and  civilly  greeted 
them.  The  notary  said  that  his  wi/-*  \\  a  'astent  d 
to  pay  her  respects  to  Madame  la  Ootntesse,  and 
had  not  been  able  to  resist  the  wish  to  present  her 
daughter  to  her. 

Though  Madame  de  Vodelles  was  not  a  little 
bored  with  this  visit,  she  answered  in  a  gracious 
manner,  and  when  the  count  went  into  his  study 
with  M.  Lescalle  she  led  the  two  ladies  into  the 
garden. 

Madame  Lescalle,  like  ^^any  of  the  inhabitants 
of  provincial  towns,  was  a  person  who  took  - 
inense  pains  to  disQguro  by  affeotalon  cxof  i ' 
natural  qualities.  Born  at  La  Cictat,  she  had  Iv  v 
it  only  twice  in  her  life,  both  times  to  spend  a; 
week  at  Lyons  with  an  aunt  of  hers.  These  north- 
ern journeys,  as  she  used  to  call  them,  give  ler  an 
assumed  right  to  lay  down  the  law  on  points  of 
fashion  and  taste.  She  wtis  iu  the  habit  of  pro- 
nouncing in  the  most  positive  manner  that  some 
particular  stuff  was  out  of  fashion,  that  Eoch  a 
style  of  dress  was  antiquated,  that  such  and  mch  a 


Tlie  Notary's  Daughter. 


39 


'1    t 

i    \- 


color  was  in  bad  taste.  No  one  ever  ventured  to 
differ  from  her.  Privileges  fouude  i  on  assumption 
are  singularly  solid,  and  Madame  Lescalle  bad 
long  been  the  uncontested  oracle  of  dl  the  fine  la- 
dies of  La  Ciotat.  Her  decisions  wore  nndiaputed, 
even  by  the  wife  of  the  mayor,  the  first  dignitary 
of  the  town,  and  were  listened  to  with  deference  in 
the  house  of  the  Richers  de  Montlouis,  the  wealthi- 
est family  in  the  neighborhood. 

Firmly  seated  on  her  little  throne,  which  had 
never  been  threatened  with  a  rival,  the  notary's 
wife  had  felt  a  little  anxious  at  the  apparition  on 
the  occ2«  of  a  Parisian  lady  of  high  birth  and  large 
fortune.  She  apprehendo-1  danger  from  that  quar- 
ter, and,  like  a  skilful  general,  determined  to  go 
and  judge  with  her  o^vn  eyes  of  the  extent  of  the 
peril.  In  case  it  proved  imminent,  she  was  not 
a  woman  likely  to  succumb  without  a  struggle.  He- 
roic measures  were  already  floating  in  her  mind. 
"If  it  i3  necessary,'  she  thought,  *'  I  shall  get 
my  gowns  from  Paris/* 

When,  after  these  desperate  resolutions,  she 
found  herself  in  presence  of  a  thin,  pale,  gentle, 
sickly-looking  woman,  in  a  lilac  silk  dress  and  a 
plain  white  lace  cap  on  her  head,  Madame  Losoalle 
ftlt  reassured,  and  still  more  by  the  fact  that  two 
or  three  silvery  grey  hairs  were  to  bo  seen  in  the 
smooth  black  bands  which  lined  the  countess' 
whire  forehead.  It  was  evident  that  Madame  do 
Vfed'dles  did  not  care  ho-v  she  dressed,  and  would 
never  bo  a  leader  of  fashion  at  L  i  Ciotat. 

In   the  moaatime  tho  good  lady,    who  had  no 


llll 


40 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


idea  what  was  passing  in  the  mind  of  the  no- 
tary's wife,  was  wondering  at  the  pecrliaritiea  of 
her  dress  and  manner.  In  spite  of  a  stumpy  figure 
and  a  too  great  cinhonpointy  Madame  Lf  scalles  liad 
been  and  was  still  considered  pretty.  Her  com- 
plexion was  blooming,  her  features  regular,  her 
countenance  good-humored,  and  if  she  had  been 
dressed  with  a  little  of  that  taste  slie  was  always 
talking  about,  she  would  have  been  a  pleasing- 
looking  person,  but  by  dint  of  absurd  pretensions 
she  often  made  herself  ridiculous. 

A  great  desire  to  dazzle  the  eyes  of  the  inhabi- 
tants of  La  Pinede  had  led  to  an  unfortunate  dis- 
play of  magnificence  in  her  dress  on  that  particular 
day.  She  wore  a  bright  green  Ohaly  gown,  the 
pattern  of  which  represented  branches  of  coral, 
immense  sleeves  inwardly  sustained  by  internal 
circles  of  whalebonC;  which  gave  them  no  chance 
of  collapsing.  An  imitation  Cashmere  shawl,  a 
pink  bonnet  surmounted  by  a  bunch  of  flowers 
which  would  have  filled  a  jardiniere,  completed  this 
aslonishing  toilet. 

From  the  first  moment  they  met  those  two  la- 
dies  felt  how  little  there  was  or  ever  could  be  iu 
common  between  them,  even  with  regard  to  that 
ordinary  sort  of  intimacy  which  presupposes  a  cer- 
tain degree  of  similarity  in  habits  and  tone  of 
mind.  They  did  not  feel  the^  least  at  their  ease 
with  each  ot'uer  during  t  »at  firsu'nterview,  and  had 
it  not  been  for  Madame  Le^calle's  inveterate  cus- 
tom of  asking  as  many  questions  as  possible,  con- 
versation would  have  languished.      But  uncertain 


ri^  III 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


41 


as  she  was  of  another  opportuuit}'  of  seeing  the 
countess,  and  anxious  to  collect  from  her  an  ample 
harvest  of  details  about  Paris,  she  made  the  best 
of  her  time. 

Innumerable  were  her  quesiions  concerning 
dress,  of  course,  and  then  theatres,  parties,  balls, 
and  even  the  dishes  then  in  fashion,  for  Madame 
Lescalle,  with  ail  her  finery,  was  also  a  good  house- 
keeper. 

Poor  Madame  de  Vedelles  was  very  much  behind- 
hand in  all  these  respects.  Her  delicate  health 
and  pious  habits  of  life  had  always  kept  her  out  of 
the  way  of  worldly  pleasures,  and  she  was  obliged 
to  acknowledge  her  ignorance  on  several  of  those 
subjects  in  a  way  that  perfectly  astouudvd  Madame 
Lescalle. 

One  strpnge  question  she  addressed  to  Madame 
de  V6delles :  *'  Does  it  not  surprise  }ou  very  much, 
madame,"'  she  said,  "  to  scu  the  sun  here  ?" 

"  Why  should  it  surprise  me  ?'*  was  the  answer.  - 

"  I  have  been  told  that  there  is  never  any 
sunshine  in  Paris.    It  must  be  very  dull." 

Madame  de  Vedelles  could  not  help  smiling, 
and  found  it  no  easy  matter  to  alter  Madame 
Lescalle*s  impressions  on  that  point.  In  order  to 
interriipt  the  unceasing  course  of  her  visitor's 
questions,  she  turned  to  Rose  L  acalie,  who  had 
remained  till  then  in  the  background.  Her  dress 
was  a  great  contrast  to  her  mother's  toilet.  It 
80  happened  that  she  had  returned  only  a  few 
days  before  from  tlie  Convent  of  the  Dimes  Ber- 
nardincs  at  Marseilles,  -^a  1  was  still  wearing  the 


^  i 


1 


42 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


school  uniform.  She  felt  a  little  ashamed  of  her 
plain  blue  frock,  her  white  Bcarf,  and  her  straw 
hat  lined  with  back  velvet.  But  in  spite  of  her 
bashfulnesB  anc"  somewhat  awkward  appearance, 
Rose  Lescalle  was  really  very  pretty.  She  was 
then  just  sixteen.  Except  a  rather  plump  and 
rounded  figure,  there  was  no  likeness  in  her  to 
her  mother.  She  was  fair,  a  very  unusual  thing 
in  Provence,  and  a  profusion  of  soft,  smooth, 
golden  hair  surrounded  her  cheeks  and  encircled 
her  head  in  two  magnij&cent  plaits.  Her  eyes 
were  of  so  dark  a  blue  that  they  looked  black 
by  candlelight ;  their  expression  was  sweet  and 
shy,  and  at  the  same  time  open  and  confiding. 
The  extreme  delicacy  of  her  features  and  her 
very  small  nose  gave  rather  a  childish  look  to 
her  face.  She  looked  like  a  befiuiiful  Utile  girl 
of  two  or  three  years  old  dressed  as  a  grown  up 
person  and  seen  through  a  magnifying  glass.  As 
to  her  complexion,  it  was  simply  dazz  in^'.  Fd-: 
once  the  name  of  Rose  had  turned  out  appi'>- 
)riate. 

Jacques  was  at  once  struck  with  astonishment 
at  the  mother's  dress  and  with  admiration  at  the 
daughter's  beauiy.  He  tried  to  converse  with  tho 
pretty  Provenyale,  but  could  not  obtain  anything 
more  than  a  yes  or  a  no  in  answer  to  his  questions* 
His  mother  was  a  little  more  successful. 

**  D J  you  Uke  the  couutry,  mademoiselle  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  madame.  1  have  never  lived  in 
the  country." 

"  Then  I  suppose  you  like  a  town  life  better  ?  " 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


43 


**  I  have  not  tiled  j^et  living  lu  u  town,  so  I  can- 
not le!l  if  I  shall  like  it." 

Jacques  luaglicd  and  said  :  "  But  you  most  have 
lived  sornevherc,  mademoiselle,  either  in  a  town  or 
in  the  country  ?" 

"^o,  sir!"  Rose  answered.  "Ihave8|)ent  six 
years  in  a  convent,  and  if  you  bad  been  at  school 
there  you  would  know  tiiat  it  is  not  like  being 
eiHier  in  tne  country  or  in  a  town."     - 

**  You  ai*c  quite  right,  madcmoigelle.  I  under- 
efcaud  now  whaiyou  mean.  A  c  nreut  is  not  iike 
any  other  plae  ,  You  see  people  in  the  parlor,  but 
it  is  not  like  meeiing  them  in  asaUiu  You  have 
A  garden  to  walk  in  and  tha  ti-ees  to  look  at,  but  it 
ii  not  like  real  country." 

In  the  course  of  their  walk  r-nad  tli«  grounds 
the  ladies,  escorted  hy  Jacques,  passed  by  the 
thresliing  floor.  There  they  found  Gcoi'g^o  kneel- 
ing against  a  low  wali,  his  ckm  res  ing  on  his 
hands,  and  his  whole  attention  engaged  in  watch- 
ing oomcthing  on  the  gronnd. 

-**  WTiat  are  you  doing  there,  ray  dear  boy?^'  Ma- 
i3ame  de  Yedelles  asked, 

Greorge  stood  np,  bowed  to  Madame  Lescalle, 
and  look  d  rather  foolish. 

"  What  Wire  yon  so  intent  upon  ?  "  his  mother 
Cjuq^ired^ 

*'  p.  rhaps  monsieur  was  watching  Ihoso  two 
bet  tics  fighting  in  the  grass?"  Madame  Lescalle 
said,  meaning  it  as  a  joke. 

"  Yis,"  George  answered,  "  I  have  been  looking 
at  them  for  the  last  half  hour.     They  are  wonder- 


l> 


44 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


•-K 


ful  creatures.  Do  you  see  that  one  with  the  blue 
scales,  mother  ?    It  is  such  a  beauty  1  *' 

"  My  son  George  is  a  great  child,  I  think,*'  Ma- 
dt>me  de  Vedelles  said,  smiling  rather  sadly  and 
kissing  her  son's  forehead. 

"  Come  along  with  us,"  Jacques  said,  drawing 
his  broiherVj  arm  in  his.  George  made  no  resist- 
ance, and  Rose  seemed  more  at  her  ease  than  when 
walking  alone  with  Jacques  behind  the  two  mo- 
thers. She  even  ventured  to  remark  upon  tho 
beauty  of  the  flowers,  and  Jacques  tried  to  keep  up 
tho  conversation. 

"  I  suppose,  mademoiselle,"  he  said,  "  that  La 
Pinede  is  one  of  the  prettiest  places  in  this  neigh- 
borhood ?" 

She  shook  her  head  and  answered  :  "  La  Tour 
and  Fond  Saint  are  also  vei'y  nice  country  houses. 
The  views  are  not  so  fine,  but  then  the  gardens  are 
much  moix)  neatly  kept.  You  do  not  see  in  them 
those  straggling  vines  which  hang  on  all  the  trees 
here." 

"  You  do  not  like  them  ?  " 

"  They  destroy  the  trees  and  prevent  them  from 
bearing  fruit.  And  only  look  how  those  caper- 
bushes  are  springing  up  in  every  direction.  My 
father  says  nothing  in ju  res  a  place  so  much.  When 
once  they  take  possession  of  the  soil  there  is  uo 
getting  rid  of  them." 

*'  And  why  should  they  l)e  gat  rid  of  r "  George 
asked.  "Tho  lilac  flowers  of  the  caper-bush  are 
lovely,  with  their  long  pistils,  which  look  like 
plumes." 


t  •' 


The  Notary  s  Dmighter. 


4S 


**  Yes.  they  are  very  pretty,  but  still  you  ought 
to  have  them  pulled  up." 

"  Why  ?  " 

*'  Because  you  could  plant  that  hill-side  with  lu- 
cerne. It  would  grovv,  as  you  have  water  here,  and 
be  a  profitable  crop.  Lucerne  sells  very  well  in 
this  countrv,  where  there  is  so  little  hav." 

*•  0  wort'»!y  daughter  of  the  house  of  Lsscalle  I" 
Jiicques  mentally  exclaimed. 

^^  M.  le  Gomte  means,  I  suppose,  to  cultivate  all 
this  land  ?  " 

**  I  h  )pe  not,  indeed,"  George  hastily  rejoined  ; 
"  they  can  make  a  kite  hen -garden  somewhere  out 
of  sight." 

Rose  opened  her  large  blue  eyos  very  wide,  and 
said  :  *'  Would  you  really  not  wish  to  improve  this 
property  ?  " 

George  made  no  answer,  and  Jacq  js  laughingly 
said  that  he  meant  to  plant  a  great  many  rose- 
bushes about  the  place,  and  then  Mile.  Lescalle, 
when  she  camo  to  La  Pinede,  would  find  herself 
surrounded  by  her  ramesakes. 

This  lather  stupid  compliment  did  not  seem  to 
displease  the  young  lady,  who  blushed  and  smiled, 
and  in  so  doing  showed  a  row  of  the  whitest  little 
teeth. 

Before  the  visitors  left  the  whole  party  sat  down 
for  a  moment  on  the  terrace.  Madame  Lescalle 
caught  sight  of  the  acacia-branch  Mhich  had  pushed 
its  way  into  George's  bed-room.  "Dear  me,"  she 
exclaimed,  "did  ihey  really  makeover  the  hon>c  to 
you  in  this  dreadful  state  ?    That  horrid  treo  has 


W. 


'T 


46 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


quite  spoilt  the  wiudow.  I  could  send  you  a  carpen- 
ter this  very  evening,  Madame  la  Comtesse,  to  saw 
off  that  abominable  branch  and  mend  the  casement*  * 

"  Do  not  take  that  troublo^  madame,"  Jacques 
said.  "It  is  into  my  brother's  room  that  the- 
branch  trespasses,,  and  George  will  not  hear  ol  cat- 
ting it  down.^ 

"Oh  !  what  an  extraordinary  idea.'* 

"  It  ia  a  fancy  of  his.^ 

"  But  the  effect  is  so  bad.  It  spoils  the  »ymi»e>- 
try  of  this  side  of  the  house,  and  it  just  happens 
that  it  is  the  on>y  side  of  La  Pin^de  which  is  at  all 
symmctricah  What  a  pity  it  is  that  t^-e  windows 
are  so  badly  placed,  otherwise  it  would  be  a  hand- 
some house.  In  those  old  times  they  had  no  idea 
how  to  build,^*^ 

At  that  moment  M,  Lescalle's  reappearance  ptrb 
an  end  to  the  discussion,  and  soon  afterwards  tlie 
visitors  departetl. 

As  they  walked  down  the  avenue,  the  notary  and 
his  family  met  a  carriage,  the  dusty  appearance  of 
which  betokened  that  it  came  from  a  distance. 
Madame  Lescalle^s  eager  curiosity  could  only  dis- 
cern that  it  contained  an  elderly  gentleman  and  a 
lady  with  a  black  veil  on*  '*  Whoare  those  {>eople  ?  " 
she  enquired  of  her  husband,  "  Tliey  are  not  any 
of  the  neighbors.'* 

"  I  don't  know  them  by  sight,"  M.  Lescalle  said, 
after  glancing  at  the  vehicle,  which  passed  them 
ranidly.  It  stopped  at  the  door  of  the  clidtean  just 
as  the  notary  and  his  family  were  going  oat  of  the 
gate  of  the  pai*k. 


The  Notary s  Daughter.  47 

Vincent  came  forward,  and  the  old  gentleman 
said  :  "  Will  you  teil  Madame  la  Oomtesse  de  Ve- 
delles  that  Mile.  Denise  do  la  Pinede  and  her  guar- 
dian have  called  to  see  her." 


I      : 

i  ■  . 


L;  p 


Xk.: 


'I'  1 


I 


w. 


% 


mmmm 


Hi 


CHAPTER  IV. 


MORE   VISITORS. 


Mlle.  Denise  de  la  Pinede  was  s*ill  in  deep 
mourniug  for  her  father.  Her  plain  black  tra- 
velling-dress, made  like  a  riiling-habit,  became  her 
tall,  thin  figure.  Round  her  neck  she  wore  a  simple 
white  muslin  collar,  and  on  her  head  a  large  black 
felt  hit  like  those  worn  by  the  per  "ant  women  ia 
Provence.  Her  regular  features,  o  dark  eyes, 
delicately  white  complexion,  ana  the  masses  of 
black  on  each  side  of  her  face  were  in  keeping 
with  t'.e  simplicity  of  her  dress  and  the  mild, 
serious  expression  of  her  countenance.  She  looked 
the  high-born  lady  that  she  was. 

M.  Legrand.  her  guardian,  was  a  singularly  com- 
mon-place individual.  The  most  remarkable  things 
about  him  were  his  gold  spectacles  and  an  imper- 
turbable, self-complacent  manner. 

Whilst  thev  waited  for  Madame  de  Vedelles,  he 
seated  himself  in  an  arm  chair  and  read  the  news- 
paper. Denise  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
and  looked  about  her.  After  the  lapse  of  sixteen 
years  she  was  gazing  again  on  that  once  familiar 
scene,  on  that  room  where  she  used  to  play  {'bout 
near  her  motlier's  couc'i,   at  the  arm-chair  her 

48 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


49 


father  used  to  fit  in  wljcn  he  came  home  from 
shooting  !  Nothing  was  clianged  in  tbu':  dniwitig- 
room„  Eiich  piece  of  furniture  was  in  iis  old 
place.  The  buhl  clock  was  ticking  with  the  sound 
she  so  well  remembered.  Flowers  filled  tlio  old 
Tases  in  the  corners  of  the  rocm.  All  looked  the 
same  ;  but  sixtein  years  had  elapsed.  Both  hcr^ 
father  and  her  mot"»cr  were  dead — La  Pincde  sold. 
Here  she  was  as  a  visitor  in  the  house  where  ghehad 
been  born  and  had  began  what  seemtd  such  a  brigl  fc 
existence  I 

It  was  a  strange  feeling,  a  wonderful  cbange  I 
She  looked  at  everything  with  that  sad,  curious 
attention  wi'  which  the  eye  rests  on  once  familiar 
scenes,  and  as  the  past  rose  before  her  with  over- 
powering intensity,  the  orphan  girl  felt  more  deeply 
than  she  had  ever  done  before  the  yearning  pain  of 
bereavement,  the  utter  loneliness  of  her  position. 
Her  heart  swelled  with  this  consciousness,  and 
silent  tears  coursed  down  her  pale,  beautiful  face. 
S'le  did  not  perceive  that  there  was  some  one  look- 
ing at  her.  George  de  Vedelles  had  oeen  s'anding 
for  some  minutes  at  the  door  entranced,  absorbed, 
in  a  state  of  intense  and  wonderiLg  admiration. 

The  comte  and  conitesse's  entrance  interrupted 
George's  ecstasy,  Denise's  c  mteraplation,  nnd  M. 
Legrand's  perusal  of  the  Journal  des  Dtbats. 

Mile,  de  la  Piaodo  made  a  strong  effort  over  her- 
self, wiped  her  eyes,  and,  hastening  towards  Ma- 
dame de  Vedelles,  said  to  her  in  a  low,  tremulous 
voice  :  '*  I  am  sure,  dear  Madame  de  Vedelles,  ihat 
you  understand  the  feelings  of  a  poor  girl  who. 


1 


V 


'•i 


vn 


1^1 


N 


II-- 


5 


TJie  Notary's  Daughter, 


■  m^ 


after  so  many  years,  sees  agaiu  the  home  of  her 
childhood,  and  that  with  your  usual  kindness  you 
sympathize  v»ith  her." 

The  countess  L^uk  the  hands  of  her  young  friend 
in  hej*s  and  pressed  them  aJfccLionatvly.  After  a 
few  worda  of  sympathy  and  interest  had  been 
uttered  and  answered,  Mile,  de  \\  Pinede  (xplained 
that  the  Oomte  de  Vedelles  having  written  to  her 
guardian  to  ask  for  tue  list  of  the  family  pictures 
and  the  t  dngs  that  had  belonged  to  th )  la'e  Ma- 
dtime  do  la  Pinede,  and  not  been  included  in  the 
s  lie  of  the  house  as  it  stood — by  t  he  express  desire 
of  Count  Honorc,  who  had  foreseen  the  possibility 
of  his  daughter's  selling  the  place— slie  had 
thought  It  better  to  come  herself  from  Toulon, 
whore  she  was  spending  Fome  weeks  with  an  aunt 
of  hers,  in  order  to  ptjint  out  herself  vhat  these 
exceptions  were,  and  to  arrange  the  matter  with 
her  kind  fi-icnds. 

Denisc  had  such  a  pleasant  voice,  and  such  a 
charming  waj|of  speaking,  everything  s  e  said  was 
80  courteous  and  so  well  expressed,  that  even  the 
old  count,  who  would  naturaly  have  been  disputa- 
tious and  inclined  to  sand  on  his  rights,  fell  com- 
pletely under  the  charm,  and  hastened  to  say  that 
Mile.  Pinede  had  but  to  go  through  the  rooms  and 
point  out  whatever  she  wished  to  be  sent  ^o  her,  and 
her  directions  would  be  immediately  complied  with. 

It  was  settled  that  the  visitors  should  first  take 
some  refreshment,  and  then  the  business  was  to  bo 
proceeded  with.  Xn  the  moaufirae  the  following 
conversation  was  c.irricd  on  : 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


"  Shall  you  como  to  Paris  next  winter  ?  "  Denise 
asked  the  countess. 

*•  0  I  I  no  ;  we  have  entirely  given  up  Paris." 

"  On  account  of  the  climate  ?" 

**  Yes  ;  I  cannot  spend  the  winter  there." 

**Wc  sjld  VaJsec  only  b^causj  my  wife's  health 
required  a  southern  climate,*'  ihe  c  unt  said. 

"  And  do  you  mean  always  t  >  live  in  the  coun- 
try ?    Will  you  not  find  it  rather  dull  ?  " 

**  Oh  !  no  ;  we  have  made  up  our  minds  to  re- 
tire from  I  he  world.  At^  ycur  age  you  cannot  un- 
derstand guch  a  resdution.  You  would  think  it 
yery  tiresome  always  to  remain  here." 

Denise  smiled  and  said,  "  Ido  not  think  it  would 
quite  suit  me." 

**  How  do  you  like  Toulon  ?  ^ 

**  I  shall  not  be  sorry  to  go  back  to  Paris." 

"Ah  I  I  thought  so,"  the  count  said.  **  I  know 
what  Toulon  is  like,  and  t!ie  sort  of  society  there — 
sailors  and  old  dowagers,  amusing  enough  to  look 
at,  but  despeiately  dull  to  talk  to.  I  suppose  you 
do  not  mean,  mademoiselle,  to  vegetate  long  in 
that  dull  3eaport  ?" 

"  I  am  going  to  remain  there  some  time  longer." 

"And  vviiat  can  induce  you  to  innabit  sucu  a 
tiresome  place  r  " 

"My  aunt  is  viry  kind,  and  wishes  mo  to  stay 
with  her  as  long  as  possible," 

"Mllf;.  de  la  Pinede  invents  all  sorts  of  strange 
amusements  for  herself,"  M.  L'  grand  said.  **  Yuu 
would  never  guess  how  she  wiles  away  the  time  in 
that  horrid  seaport  town," 


li 


r\ 


TJw  Notary  s  DattgJitcr. 


George,  who  had  been  leaning  on  the  back  of  his 
motiitr's  chuir  without  joining  in  the  conversation, 
but  A\ith  his  eyes  and  cars  inteiuly  engaged  on 
every  word  that  was  uffered,  venLurvd  to  say  in  a 
low  voice,  "  How,  I  wonder  ?  " 

M.  L^grand  laughed.  *'  I  shall  get  into  a  scrape, 
I  suppose,  if  I  speak  of  I'wuvre  des2)etUs  malelois.'* 

Deniso  turned  to  tlie  countess  wih  a  smil  ,  and 
said  :  "It  is  on^y  to  you,  dear  madame,  t'^at  I  will 
let  M.  Lcgrand  mention  mv  hobbies.  We  had 
many  common  interests  in  Paris.  You  know  that 
you  were  the  fir^t  person  who  took  me  to  one  of 
the  meetings  of  the  Sainte  Famille." 

**  Oil  !  that  is  another  of  Mile.  Denise'a  enter- 
prizes  at  Toulon.  She  leads  the  ladies  of  the  town 
a  weary  life  with  her  Parisian  activity.  Our  Pro- 
venyalos  are  rathor  inclined  to  the  dolcefar  niente 
of  their  Italian  neighl/ore." 

"Then  they  would  suit  you,  George,"  the  count 
said  to  his  son,  whose  pale  cheeks  suddenly  red- 
dened at  being  thus  addressed  in  the  presence  of 
Mile,  do  la  Pinode,  whose  dark,  speaking  eyes 
turned  upon  him  with  an  enquiring  expression. 

"  I  sliall  tell  3'ou  one  advantage  you  may  derive 
from  your  residence  in  the  south,  my  dear,"  the 
countess  said  to  her  young  friei  d.  **Theclimu'e 
will  still  further  improve  your  very  beautiful  voice. 
Your  talent  can  hardly  admit  of  improvement. 
Ilavo  you  been  singing  much  lately  ?" 

**  Has  not  she  got  up  a  choir  in  the  Church  of 
St.  Ildegonde,"  M.  Legrand  exclaimed,  "  which  is 
the  admiration  of.  the  whole  town.     It  has  becom»i 


The  Notary's  Dmtghter. 


53 


*■'• 


the  fashion  to  go  to  Vespers  since  Mile.  Denise  has 
begun  to  play  the  organ  and  to  lead  the  choir." 

**  How  odious  it  is,"  Denise  exclaimed,  **  to  think 
of  fashion  having  anything  to  do  with  the  worship 
of  God  I " 

**  Better  that  it  should  be  Ihe  fashion  to  go  to 
church  than  to  stay  away,  my  dear,"  Madame  do 
Vedelies  said. 

"  Ah  I "  Dcuise  rejoined,  *'  I  suppose  you  thick 
like  the  English  poet  wijo  said  there  are  seme 
'  who  come  to  scoff  and  who  leniain  to  pray.'  " 

George's  eyes  seemed  to  grow  more  eloquent 
every  moment  as  he  listened  to  this  conversation, 
and  it  was  like  awaking  from  a  pleasant  dream  to 
be  asked  by  his  father  to  go  to  his  study  and  fetch 
from  it  some  papers  relating  to  the  personal  prop- 
erty and  the  ncent  purchases  connected  with  the 
chateau  and  the  estate,  which  he  wished  to  examine 
with  M.  Legrai  d. 

He  at  otice  left  the  room,  but  on  his  way  up- 
stairs entirely  forgot  what  Le  had  been  sent  to  do, 
papsed  absently  before  the  door  of  the  study,  went 
into  his  own  room,  walked  up  and  down  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  tlien,  leaning  against  the  window, 
fell  into  a  fit  of  deep  musing. 

Meanwhile  Jacques,  who  had  been  out,  came  in 
shortly  afterwards,  and  M.  do  Vedelies  presented 
him  to  tlic  young  heiress  with  a  feeling  of  conscious 
pride.  The  way  in  which  1  e  spoke  of  Jacques  as 
**  my  son  "  made  her  ask  :  *'  Is  the  young  man  who 
was  here  a  moment  ago  also  your  son  ^  " 

**  Yes,  my  youngest  son,"  the  count  answered; 


f 


iki 


if!f  I.. 


54 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


C( 


an  overgrown  schoolboy,  without  any  manners  op 
conversation.  He  is  so  shy  that  I  was  afraid  of  in- 
troducing him  to  you.  By  the  bye,"  he  added, 
turning  to  Jacques,  "do  go  and  see  whufc  he  is 
about.  I  sent  him  half  an  hour  a^o  to  my  siudy 
for  some  papers.  I  dare  say  ho  is  quite  puzzled  to 
find  them.     He  has  no  head  for  anything." 

"He  is  not  in  the  shudy,"  Jacques  answered. 
*'I  saw  him  as  I  came  in  at  tlie  window  of  his 
room,  staring,  as  usual,  at  the  view.  I  called  to 
him,  but  he  did  not  answer,  and  disappeared." 

**  Go  and  tell  him,"  the  countess  said  in  a  whis- 
pi»r,  "  to  be  suro  to  bo  in  time  for  dinner.  Mile,  de 
la  Pinedo  aud  her  guardian  will  stay  and  dine  with 


us. 


>» 


Jacques  went  to  give  his  brother  this  message, 
and  then  came  back  and  tried  to  make  himself 
agreeable  to  his  mother's  young  guest.  He  evi- 
denily  was  as  much  struck  with  her  as  George,  but 
his  admiration  was  evinced  in  quite  a  different 
manner.  Nothing  could  be  more  opiJosite  in  look?, 
in  character,  and  in  manner  than  M.  do  Vedilles* 
sons.  Jacques  was  eight  years  older  than  George, 
and  most  people  would  have  said  much  the  hand- 
somest of  the  two. 

The  De  Vedelles  were  originally  of  Norman  ex- 
traction, aud  he  had  all  the  distinctive  character- 
istics of  his  father's  family.  Strong,  tall,  fair- 
haircd,  with  a  fine  complexion  and  whi-e  teeth,  he 
presented  a  perfect  typo  of  the  manly  beauty  of  the 
race  to  which  he  belonged,  whereas  George  resembled 
his  mother,  who  was  a  Creole  of  the  isle  of  Ouba. 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


5S 


Jacques  kne^v  perfectly  well  how  to  set  himself 
off  to  the  best  advantage,  both  as  to  dress  and  as  to 
manner.  He  had  talchts  and  clevern  .'ss,  and  made 
the  most  of  them.  A  general  favorite  wherever 
he  w„jt,  his  contidenco  in  hi?  powers  of  pleasing 
was  very  great,  but  not  offensivJy  di -played. 
WI;li  considerable  quickness  I  e  discovered  that 
thcligiit  and  chaffing  tone  which  was  habitual  to 
him  when  conversing  with  young  ladies  would  not 
suit  Mile,  de  hi  Pinede,  and,  without  conscions  hy- 
pocrisy or  affectation,  he  talked  of  things  he 
thought  lik,  !y  to  interest  her,  and  gave  it  to  be  un- 
derstood that  he  might  be  induced  even  to  take, 
Bome  duy,  a  prac  ical  interest  in  many  subjects  Le 
had  hitherto  little  studied. 

G-eorge  scarcely  opened  his  lips  bef  re  or  after 
ditu;er.  lie  had  made,  under  old  Vincent's  super- 
intendence, a  ralhor  unsuccessful  attempt  at  dress- 
ing for  the  occasion;  submitted  to  lave  his  hair 
brushed  in  a  fashionable  manner,  and  put  on  a 
white  waistcoat  and  a  coat  and  trousers  which 
showed  him  to  have  grown  considerably  since  thoso 
garments  had  been  made.  His  attiro  was  not  in 
keeping  with  his  iiy\Q  or  looks,  and  his  excessive 
ebynesa  made  him  awkward  and  almost  ridiculous, 
60  tlijit  Denise  easily  accepted  the  disparaging  de- 
scription \\U  lather  had  given  of  him,  and  con- 
cluded that  his  mind  wa^  as  deficient  as  his  mau- 
nirs  were  strange. 

Still  she  seemed  interested  about  him,  and  as  she 
talked  wi.h  his  brother  often  turned  towards, him^ 
and  tried  to  make  him  join  in  the  conversjition. 


56 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


But  whenever  she  addressed  a  question  to  the  poor 
youth  he  looked  so  distressed  that  at  last  she 
tho>:ght  it  kinder  not  to  speak  to  him. 

When  the  meal  was  over,  and  coffee  had  been 
^ierved  on  the  terrace,  M.  de  Vedelles  and  M,  Le- 
grand  retired  to  discuss  matters  of  business,  and 
Madame  dc  Vudelles  and  Mile,  de  la  Pinode^  by 
the  count's  desire,  went  over  the  house  for  the 
purpose  of  marking  out  the  pictures  and  the  arti- 
cles of  furniture  which  the  latter  was  entitled  to 
claim. 

The  countess  was  not  clever  or  observant,  but 
f^ili  of  sweetness  and  kindness.  Her  gentle  sym- 
pathy softened  what  she  felt  must  be  a  painful 
task  to  the  orphan  girl,  w'lo  went  through  it  in  a 
calm,  deliberate  mannv?r  as  a  matter  of  duty,  but, 
except  when  slie  came  upon  pictures  of  her  parents 
or  her  mother's  own  work-box,  showed  little  cure 
or  emotion.  She  consulted  a  list  in  her  hand, 
drawn  up  by  her  father,  and  verified  its  accuracy. 

When  they  returned  to  tue  drawing-room,  she 
took  Madame  do  Vodellca'  hands  in  hers,  and  said: 

**My  dear  countess,  I  am  going  to  make  rather 
a  strange  request.  You  have  aKays  been  so  kind 
to  me,  coming  to  see  mo  at  the  Sacr6  Coeur,  and 
today  you  have  been  so  full  of  tenilerneis  and  sym- 
pathy, that  I  feel  T  may  look  upon  you  as  a  friend. 
Might  I  ask  you  to  leave  all  these  things  wiih  you  ? 
I  don't  want  to  take  them  away;  I  s'.iould  like 
them  to  bo  here — to  remain  here." 

"We  will  keep  them  as  long  as  you  like  for  you, 
dear  Denise.     I  dare  tay  it  will  be  more  convenient 


''^^V 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


57 


foi'  you  not  to  removo  them  till  you  have  a  house 
of  your  own." 

"That  is  not  what  I  mean.  I  should  always 
like  ta  think  of  them  as  heing  here.  I  have  some 
of  my  dear  father's  feeling  about  this  jjlacc.  In 
my  heart  and  thoughts  it  will  bo  always  sacred  to 
the  memory  of  my  parents.  What  they  looked 
upon,  what  they  touched,  what  they  used,  had 
better  be  here  than  elsewhere." 

The  young  girl  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  and 
gave  way  to  a  ourst  of  tears.  Madame  do  Vu'elles 
gently  stroked  her  hand,  and  for  a  few  minu  es  did 
not  speak.  Many  rapid  thoughts  passed  through 
her  mind. 

"  Why  did  she  sell  the  place,  as  she  cares  for  it  so 
much  ?  Does  she  now  regret  that  she  did  so  ? 
What  a  strange  iaca  to  want  to  leavo  all  those  son- 
Ycnirs  here  !  Dear  me  1  lilfenflcr  I  Such  things 
have,  they  say,  happened  as — .  Jacques  is  eo 
handsome,  so  pleasing,  lias  it  occurred  to  her  as 
a  possibility  ?  What  a  perfect  thing  it  y/ouid  be 
for  both  of  them  !  She  is  going  to  stay  some  time 
at  Toulon.     How  glad  I  should  be  I" 

<<  Forgive  me  for  being  so  foolish,"  Denise  siid. 
**I  do  not  often  s'jcd  tears,  and  now  it  is  all  over." 

She  raised  her  head,  and  there  was  a  swert  and 
beautiful  smile  on  her  face,  so  full  of  peace  and 
serenity  that  Madame  do  Yedelles  felt  surprised  at 
the  sudden  change. 

*'  Will  you  do  what  I  a  ked  30U  ?     Denise  said. 

"I  must  speak  lo  my  husband  first ;  but  I  think 
I  can  answer  for  him  that  he  will  agree  to  keep 


v$ 


.  r 


1   ; 


r"i 


fl'  I 


\f. 


H 

:  Hi 


1  1  '5  ; 


e 


m 


S8 


Tlie  Notary  s  DaugJtter. 


tliese  t'.iiigs  as  long  as  ever  you  \vish  tlicm  to  stay 
here,' and  to  send  them  to  3011  whenever  }ou  claim 
them.-' 

*•  I  shall  never  claim  t!iem,"  Denise  said  in  a  tone 
of  such  decision  that  Madame  do  Vode.les  could 
only  say  : 

"At  any  rate,  they  will  always  be  at  your  dis- 
posal. By  the  way,  there  is  a  box  I  must  also  show 
you." 

*'  George,"  she  said,  for  at  that  moment  she  saw 
her  youngest  son  on  the  terrace,  sitting  on  the 
parapet  with  his  clog  and  watching  his  mother  and 
Denise  as  they  satin  the  drawing-room — "  George, 
go  up  to  the  lumber-room  and  bring  lure  a  box  on 
which  you  will  see  wri  ten,  /Mile,  de  U  Pinedc's 
toys.'"" 

George  disappcare  1,  and  broug^it  bick  that  very 
box  which  had  for  d^  many  years  stood  on  the 
couch  nt  ar  whicli  Mudamo  do  Vedclles  and  Denise 
were  sitting,  lie  laid  it  on  the  table,  removed  the 
lid,  and  took  out  of  it  the  little  sheep  with  their 
pink  collars,  thj  wooden  animals,  the  hunters  and 
shepherdesses,  and  spread  them  before  Deni&j,  who 
took  them  in  her  liund  one  by  one,  sighed,  then 
smiled,  and  said : 

*'Ye3,  how  well  I  remcnib  r  Lhcm  I  Ti.ey  were 
the  delight  of  my  c'  ildhood  I  often  asked  my 
pior  father  lor  Ihcm.  It  was  those  little  sheep  I 
was  so  fond  of.  H:  us- d  to  bry  mo  aU  the  most 
wondejful  toy^  tliat  could  bo  found  in  Paris,  but 
I  never  had  any  jnst  like  these."  After  looking  at 
them  a  liule  w  ib,  s'.e  said,  "  I  cupposo  t'.ere  are 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


59 


some  poor  little  children  in  the  neigh borhool  whom 
yoa  could  make  happy,  dear  couniees,  by  giving 
them  my  dear  old  toys  ? '' 

**  May  I  have  them  ?*'  George  oag«  rly  said. 

Dcnise  laughed,  but  M  idame  de  Vcdelles  looked 
vexed. 

"Reary,  my  biy,  with  your  pas  ion  for  collecting 
odds  and  onds  you  will  givt*  t )  poo^  lo  the  idea  that 
you  aio  a  growii-ap  baby." 

"  I  don't  care  what  ])eople  think,'*  George  said, 
*' Mademoiselle,  miy  I  l»avc  thesa  things  ?" 

Donlso  laughed,  and  m  d,  *•  Yes,  if  you  can  re- 
concile it  to  your  conscience  to  deprive  the  poor 
children  of  (hit  boxful  of  happiness.'* 

"I  will  go  to  Toulon  and  buy  a  cart-load  of  toys 
for  all  the  little  beggars  round  Lw  T>:„ede,  an  I 
then  I  suppose  I  mny  keep  ihis  boxful  of  happi- 
ness ?  " 

Those  last  w.  rds  were  said  with  a  sorL  of  emution 
t'lat  did  not  escape  Dc^nise's  notice. 

"  What  a  strange  youth  Ihat  is  I"  a^c  thought. 

Jacques  reappeared  just  t'.ien,  and,  liU  the  visi- 
tors departed,  devoted  himself  to  Mile,  de  la  Pineda, 
an  1  iiitt  red  himself,  when  she  drove  off,  that  she 
had  foun  1  him  very  agreeable.  IIo  asked  leave  to 
cull  on  her  aunt  when,  as  was  often  the  case,  he  was 
at  Toulon.  She  answered  civilly,  and  took  an 
affectionate  leave  of  the  countess. 

Madame  do  Velellcs  told  her  husband  of  Denise'a 
strange  wish  to  leave  all  her  souvenirs  and  family 
pictures  at  Li  Pinede,  and  conQlcd  to  him  the 
idea  thiit  had  passed  through  her  mind. 


^ 


) ' 


■  if.- 


ill 

,     !  ' 


■:.~l.x'm 

^ 

!#■ 

SEi 

■*- 

K 

'€- 

^p-r 

2 

«^^ 

II  '  III 


60 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


"  Wei],  my  dear  wife,"  t'le  count  answered, 
"bring  that  ahoufc  if  you  can.  Nothing  would 
help  on  better  Jacques'  election  or  bis  prospects  in 
life  than  to  murry  this  beautiful  heiress  ;  so  I  give 
you  full  leave  to  promote  this  most  desirable  re- 
sult. But  believe  my  experience;  hurry  it  on 
slowly.  Girls  with  beauty  and  fortune  require  to 
be  carefully  dealt  wit'i,  and  he  niuit  make  his  way 
with  her  hiinself  before  "'C  sound  M.  L^grand  on 
the  subject.  I  susptc::  the  youn;:?  lady  is  like  you, 
my  dear  wife,  devout  and  clerical;  Jacques — bad 
fellow  that  he  is,  and  more  or  less  Voltairean — ** 

**  Do  not  say  that,  my  dear  husband.  It  makes 
me  so  miserable." 

''If  you  succeed  in  marrying  him  to  Mile,  de  la 
Pinodc,  she  will  c-nveit  liim.  I  never  saw  a 
woman  who  give  mo,  at  first  sight,  so  much  the 
idea  of  strength  of  character.  Depend  upon  it,  she 
will  influence  aH  t'loso  she  has  to  do  with." 

"  Thank  v>od  for  that.  It  will  always  be  in  a 
right  direction."  And  the  poor  mother  began  to 
pray  t'lat  night  for  the  success  of  the  scheme  she 
had  so  fondly  devised. 

Before  re  Jring  to  her  room  she  had  ascertained 
from  Jacques  that  he  thought  Mile,  de  la  Pin6de 
wonderfully  handsome,  and  refrained  with  diffi- 
culty from  hinting  at  ler  hopes.  Before  wishing 
him  good  night,  she  said  : 

**I  was  so  grieved  at  dear  G-eorge*s  asking  Deniso 
to  give  him  her  old  playthings.  It  made  me  feel 
quite  uncomfortable.  I  am  glad  his  father  was 
not  in  the  room." 


CHAPTER  V. 


MISE    M£D£. 


Leaving  for  a  while  the  Be  Vedelles  occupied 
each  with  his  or  her  own  private  cogitations  rela- 
tive to  the  visit  of  the  beautiful  Denise,  we  shall 
follow  M.  Lescalle  and  his  wife  and  daughter  to  a 
country  house  called  "Les  Capucins,"  whicli  be- 
longed to  an  aunt  of  his,  with  whom  they  were 
going  to  spend  the  rest  of  the  day. 

This  aunt  was  a  maiden  lady  who  had  been 
given  the  rather  affected  name  of  Mesdelices,  but 
in  the  familiar  Provenyal  prtois  was  called  by 
everybody  Mise — that  is,  Madame  Mede. 

Mile.  Lesca lie's  youth  had  witnessed  the  stormy 
ecenes  of  the  first  Rovokition.  When,  under  the 
empire,  order  was  re-established  and  property  re- 
sumed its  rights,  she  found  herself  in  possession  of 
a  valuable  little  estate,  and,  though  somewhat 
advanced  in  a^e,  received  many  a  proposa!  of  mar- 
riage. The  old  Baron  de  Croixfonds  compromised 
his  ancestral  dignity  so  far  as  to  solicit  the  hand  of 
Mise  Mede,  but  his  and  every  other  offer  of  the 
kind  was  rejected.  Mesdelices  Lescalle  was  sharp 
enough  to  know  that  at  her  age  it  was  only  her  foi- 
tune  that  attracted  suitors,  and  independently  of 

61 


N'lill ' 


,H! 


r 


63 


Tlt€  Notary's  Daughter. 


other  reasons  this  would  have  bien  erough  to  de- 
termine her  to  reinafn  single. 

Young  Lescille,  her  nopliew,  was  at  that  time 
in  Paris  stu  lying  for  tue  bar.  I[e  had  often  re- 
course to  Aunt  Mede's  purse  when  his  cxtravagunt 
love  of  amusement  and  exjiensc  involved  him  in 
pecuniary  difficulties.  After  a  few  yoars'  residence 
in  Paris,  young  Lescalle  found  himself  provided, 
indeed,  with  diplomas,  bu^  with  no  mtans  of  exis- 
tence but  his  own  talents,  which  he  wjis  intelligent 
enough  not  to  rate  very  hig  ily. 

Such  being  the  case,  I  e  glidiy  accep-ed  his 
aunt's  offer  to  purchase  for  him  an  attorney's  office 
in  his  native  tov*n.  From  that  moment  Toussuint 
Lescalle  entirely  changed  his  habits  of  life;  he 
married,  and  became  steady  and  hai*d-working — 
the  dissipated  student  of  the  !jlcole  do  Droit  wa-s 
ti*ansformed  into  a  respectable  man  of  business, 
and  was^verv  tevere  upon  those  who  veuuired  to 
live  as  ho  ;.ad  done  in  past  days.  It  w;is  rather 
amusing  to  hear  him  find  fault  with  Mi;c  Medefor 
her  charitable  indulgence 'towards  people  who  Jell 
into  distress  th  ough  their  own  extravagance. 

In  1819  the  birth  of  Rose  gjivo  Mile.  Lescalle  a 
feeling  of  intense  happiness.  When  she  looked  at 
the  h  Ipless  little  creature  just  come  into  tiie  world 
all  the  tenderne:?s  au'^  dt  p4h  of  feeling  in  her  na- 
ture was  called  forth,  all  that  sort  of  motherly  a3ec- 
tion  which  is  dormant  in  ma!  y  a  woman's  heart, 
and  is  ready  to  spend  itself  in  its  rich  ubutdance 
on  seme  object  near  and  dear  .to  it,  which  Provi- 
dence, sometimes  late  in  life,  places  in  its  way. 


ao.i^l 


The  Netarys  Daughter, 


63 


Holding  the  ba>)y  in  her  arms,  elie  hactencd  to 
her  inphew's  room,  and  stiid  :  "Toussaint,  if  you 
feel  any  gratitude  at  all  for  the  affection  I  liave 
always  showu  you,  do  grant  mo  what  I  am  going  to 
ask," 

**  What  is  it,  dijar  old  aunt  ?  There  is  nothing 
I  would  Moi  do  for  you," 

**  Let  me  biing  up  your  little  girl." 

**  What  !  would ^ou  really  wish  that,  aunty?*' 

"  Yo4 ;  I  want  to  take  her  and  her  nurse  to  the 
Capucins.  You  and  your  wife  could  come  and  see 
h»  r  as  of t'  n  as  you  liked.  Do  let  mo  have  her,  my 
dear  nephew  ;  I  have  set  my  heair  upon  it.*' 

**This  is  a  very  sudden  tho^gh^,  Aunt  Med6 ; 
you  never  said  any. lung  about  it  before.  How 
came  you  t  >  think  of  it  now  ?" 

**  Wlien  I  saw  her,  and  kissed  her,  I  nnderst"od 
for  the  first  time  the  deep  love  one  can  have  for  a 
little  diild.  It  was  quite  a  new  emotion  ;  and 
then  the  thought  came  into  my  mind  that  you 
would  let  me  take  charge  of  her." 

M.  L^scalle  rapidly  resolved  in  his  mind  the 
merits  of  this  proposal,  and  then  Laid  :  **  Well,  for 
my  purt,  Aunv,  Mede,  I  sec  no  objection  to  what 
you  wi-h.  The  child  will  be  better  off  with  you 
than  with  any  one  else,  that  I  am  sure  of.  If  you 
can  settle  it  with  my  wife,  you  can  rely  on  my  con- 
sent." 

Madime  Les'^aVe  did  not  long  resist  the  earnept 
entieaties  of  iicr  husband's  aunt,  and  Mise  Mede 
carried  off  the  baby  in  triumph  to  her  country 
house. 


I  » 


64 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


From  that  moment  her  life,  which  had  been  so 
long  a  solivary  one,  underwent  a  g/eat  change. 
Siie  loved  little  Rose  with  an  intense  affection, 
which  tilled  her  heart  with  overflowing  delight. 
She  waa  her  joy,  her  thought,  her  care  of  every 
instpnt  ;  and  that  large  nimbling  honse,  which  had 
been  before  so  silent  and  so  still,  was  soon  enli- 
vened by  the  sound  <  f  childish  laughter  and  the 
pattering  of  infant  feeN  . 

Mii:^  M^e'sccuntry  houst  had  formerly  been  the 
aucicnt  and  famous  Convent  of  the  Capuchins  of 
La  Ciotat.  It  was  built  on  a  slanting  part  of  »the 
beach,  beneath  which  the  waves  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean were  continually  breaking  against  a=  belt  of 
small  rocks,  just  rising  above  the  surface  of  the 
water.  The  situation  was  beautiful,  and  the  ter- 
race and  the  garden  looked  on  a  magnificent  view 
of  the  coast  on  both  sides,  and  oti  an  unlimited  ex- 
pause  of  deep  blue  sea. 

This  spot  had  been  well  chosen  for  a  convent 
We  never  feel  so  strongly  God*s  greatness  and  our 
own  littleness  as  when  we  gaze  on  the  boundless 
fcky  and  the  fathomless  ocean. 

It  was  in  this  delightful  spot,  in  tho  midst  of 
the  lovtlicst  works  of  nature,  and  u  der  the  lov- 
ing and  fortering  care  of  her  great-annt,  that  Rose 
spent  the  time  of  her  childhood.  In  her  eleventh 
,>ear  M.  Lescalle  decided  that  she  was  to  go  to 
school. 

Mig^  M6d6  wept  in  dlcnce  for  some  days,  but 
did  not  try  to  pcvsuado  her  nephew  to  alter  his 
intsntioD.    In  her  deep  humility  she  thought  her- 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


65 


self  unequal  to  tlio  task  of  educating  Eosc,  and 
though  she  would  never  have  volunteered  to  part 
with  her,  ^hen  her  parents  spoke  of  it  she  sub- 
mitted to  it  with  silent  anguisli. 

M.  Loscallc  made  a  mistake  la  proposing,  o^  ' 
Miso  Mede  in  acquiescing  in,  this  measure.  V 
liad  possessed  a  wiser  jadgment  and  a  waiii_v^f 
lieart,  if  she  \  ad  not  been  deceived  by  her  saintly 
ignorance  of  her  own  merits,  they  would  not  lipvc 
thought  it  an  advantage  for  Rose.  The  society  of 
one  so  holy  and  so  sensible  as  her  old  aunt,  the 
knowledge  derived  from  her  experience  in  life — a 
life  which,  like  eo  many  of  those  which  began  dur- 
ing the  terrible  period  of  the  first  Frenc'i  Revoln- 
iion,  had  gained  from  an  oarly  acquaintance  with 
entTering  and  persccut'on  a  peculiar  s  rcngth  and 
generosity — would  have  been  a  fur  higher  and  bet- 
ter training  for  a  y  ^'Ung  girl  than  that  of  a  board- 
ing-school i:i  a  country  town,  under  the  care  of 
good  and  pious  women,  not  highly  educated  them- 
selves, and  obliged  by  the  ex-gencies  of  parents  of 
the  middling  class  to  attend  to  their  pupils  acquir- 
ing showy  accomplishments  and  a  smattering  of 
learning  in  preference  to  useful  practical  informa- 
tion. 

The  school  where  Rose  spent  six  years  was  im- 
mcnsurab'y  better  for  her  than  her  father's  and 
mothcr*s  society  and  the  influence  of  Madame 
lisscalie^a  worldly  example  and  gossiping  acquain' 
tances;  but  it  wus  as  decidedly  inferior  to  >\hat 
eho  would  liave  gained  in  daily  intercourse  with 
her  Aunt  Meao  as  were  the  Btruij^ht  alleys  and 


|.li    " 


:"    I 


S  Si 


Gil 


66 


The  Notary* s  Daughter, 


iiiil 


liigh  walls  of  the  onvenfc  play-ground  (o  ilie  glou 
rious  expanse  and  lovely  views  of  the  old  Caimchia 
monastery. 

Bub  it  was  not  expected  that  M.  Lcscallo  "would 
understand  tiii^,  and  so  his  daugliter  liad  toLarn 
^he  elements  of  various  sciences  in  dull  abridgments, 
;  nd  to  tire  her  little  fingers  by  running  endless 
u>calcs  on  the  yellow  keys  of  a  consumptive  piano- 
forte. 

"  When  she  came  homo.  Rose  Loscalle  had  made  a 
good  first  Communion,  and  since  that  time  had 
kept  up  habi.s  of  piety  which  in  her  father's  house 
would  certainly  not  have  been  the  cise.  But  it 
may  bo  doubted  whether  she  knew  as  much  of 
Eolid  virtue  and  real  relii]rion  as  when  she  had  left 
the  Capuci:i8,  or  was  prepared  to  encounter  the 
dangers  of  the  world  she  was  entering  upon,  as  if, 
during  those  years  when  the  mind  receives  its 
strongest  impress,  s'  e  had  been  under  the  wing  of 
Misu  Medr  Tiie  society  of  her  school-follows  had 
not  tended  to  elevate  her  tone  of  mind  or  im- 
prove her  character. 

The  calm  good  sense  of  the  old  lady  made  her 
perceive  it  at  once,  but  she  also  saw  that  Rose  was 
an  innocci.t  and  loving  child,  and  that  no  real 
harm  was  done.  Tlio  good  nuns,  in  epite  of  the 
unfavorable  effects  of  association  with  girls  some  of 
whom  had  been  brought  up  in  irreligious  Jiomes, 
had  prcsorvod  her  faith  and  maintained  her  in  the 
practice  of  licr  duties.  Mllo.  Lcscallo  felt,  on  the 
whole,  satisfied  and  hopeful  that  she  might  now 
resume  all  her  influence  over  the  chi  dof  her  heart. 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


67 


As  to  Rose's  parents,  thoy  were  enchanted  with 
her  accomplishments.  She  could  play  a  long 
sonata  of  Hertz  without  making  a  single  mistake, 
and  brought  home  gigantic  heails  of  Niobe  and 
Romulus  drawn  in  red  chalk.  She  could  speak  a 
little  English,  not  quite  with  what  Madame  de  Stael 
calls  the  **  pure  insular  accent,"  but,  at  any  rate, 
which  sounded  1  ko  English  in  her  father's  ears, 
who  had  once  been  in  London  for  t  ao  days. 

It  cun  easily  bo  supposed  that  in  her  solitary  life 
the  least  circumstance  connected  with  Rose  assumed 
a  high  importance  in  Mise»  Mode's  eyes.  So  she 
made  her  nephew  promise  that  ho  at  any  rate 
would  call  on  his  way  back  from  La  Pinede.  S!ie 
wanted  to  know  hoY  Rose  had  got  through  this 
sort  of  6rst  introduction  into  society.  Contrary  to 
her  usual  habits,  sho  felt  restless  all  the  morn- 
ing, and  ton  times  in  the  coarse  of  an  hour 
looked  out  of  the  window.  At  last  sho  could  not 
remain  indoora  any  longer,  and  seated  herself  on  a 
stone  ^^ench  in  the  garden,  from  whence  sho  could 
see  the  road.  There  she  sat,  knitting  with  a  sort 
of  feverish  activity  a  thick  stocking  for  her  charity 
bag. 

Mis6  M6.16  ^7as  then  about  seventy  years  of  age. 
She  was  tall,  thin,  and  as  straight  as  an  arrow. 
Her  face  was  rather  long,  her  nose  aquiline,  her 
lips  compressed,  in  consequence  of  the  loss  of  her 
front  teeth.  Her  features  indicated  a  great 
strength  of  will,  and  would  have  been,  perhaps,  a 
little  stern,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  sweet  expres- 
sion of  her  large,  grey,  and  ctill  very  beautiful  eyes. 


i  1 


68 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


Her  dress  was  half  like  fc'jafc  of  a  nun,  half  like 
that  of  a  peasant.  lb  consisted  of  a  gown  made  of 
a  thick.  da»k  stuff ;  a  round  white  plaited  cap, 
and  a  stiffly-starched  handkerchief  standing  out  in 
pr  jectin^  folds  over  her  bosom. 

When  Madame  Lescalle's  wonderful  bonnet  ap- 
peared in  the  road,  the  old  lady  rose  and  went  to 
meet  her  relatives. 

"Well,  Virginie,"  she  said,  "are  jou  pleased 
with  j?oar  visit  ?  " 

Madame  Lescalle  shrugged  her  shoulders  and 
ansTered:  "  Madame  dc  Vedrles  was  civil  enough  ; 
but  th3  is  not  particularly  agreeable.  I  think  she 
is  as  stiff  as  a  poker—  hat  woman," 

"And  the  count  ?" 

"Upon  my  word,  I  hardly  saw  him.  He  just 
bowed  to  us  and  that  was  all.** 

"  My  dear,"  M.  Toussaint  put  in,  "  the  count  had 
to  s]»cak  to  me  on  business." 

"'  Oh  I  of  course  \  but  he  might  have  said  a  few 
words  to  us." 

"He  sent  his  eon  to  make  acquaintance  wiih 
you." 

"Oh  I  vcs ;  and  a  charming  young  man  ho  is,  so 
handsome  and  tall,  and  conversaole  too,  quite  dif- 
ferent from  his  parents." 

"Ho  is  the  elde  t  son,  t'le  one  they  call— 
What  do  tliey  call  him  ?"  M.  Lescalle  asked. 

"  M.  J  icques,"  Roso  said. 

"Ah  I  you  remember  his  name,  mademoigelle," 
Madam?  Lescalle  laughingly  remarked,  and  tlieu 
added  iu  a  low  voice  to  Aunt  M^de,  "  He  boked  a 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


69 


great  deal  at  Rose,  and  he  said  something  compli- 
mentary about  her  complexion. "' 

**  She  is  not  an  uglj  little  thing,"  the  aunt  re- 
joined, kissing  one  of  Rose's  blooming  cheeks. 

**  Bu'  what  is  fur  be  ter  than  compliments.  Aunt 
Mede,"  M.  Toussaint  said,  *'is  the  certainty  of  be- 
ing employed  in  the  en  ire  management  of  the 
count's  aff lirs.  He  is  tire!  of  business,  and  means 
in  fu  ure  to  leave  everything  to  me.  This  will 
nccessitat'j  my  being  a  great  deal  at  La  Pinede.  I 
am  going  to  breakfast  there  to-morrow.  We  have 
to  talk  about  the  lease  of  a  farm." 

"  How  angry  tuc  Arnoux  will  be,"  Madame  Ijcs- 
cille  exclaimed. 

*'  Oh  !  but  you  must  not  say  anything  about  it, 
Virginie." 

"  Why  not  ? '' 

*'  It  is  better  M.  Arnoux  should  suppose  I  go 
there  as  a  friend.     It  will  have  a  bet  er  effect." 

**  My  poor  dear  Toussaint,"  Aunt  Mt'd6  ex- 
claimed, "  what  a  foolish  sort  of  vanity  that  is  I  ' 

"  My  dear  aunt,  pedple  value  us  according  to  the 
value  we  set  on  ourselves.  I  learnt  that  in  Paris. 
For  one  perao:i  who  looks  into  things,  five  hundred 
take  them  on  trust,  and  believe  you  are  what  you 
give  yourself  out  to  be." 

"I  do  no.  like  that  principle,"  Aunt  M6d6  said. 
"I  know  of  a  better  one,  I  think." 

"  What  is  it,  Aunt  M6d6  ?  * 

**  It  is  better  to  be  than  to  seem  wortliy  of  es- 
teem." 
'    "  O'l  I  that  is  a  fine  sentenoo  for  a  copy-book, 


i  1 


.**«-< 


\     1l  ■' 
I  - 


!  \  \:m.s 


\ 


.  i   I 


JO 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


n 


Mise  Mede  ;  but  those  high  flights  do  not  answer 
in  real  life.  Oome  now,  jou  mast  admit  that  if 
they  think  me  in  town  on  intimate  terms  at  the 
chdteau,  it  will  give  me  a  sort  of  prestige.  If  I  am 
simply  considered  as  the  factotum  of  the  old  count, 
it  will  not  do  mo  half  so  much  good.  Trust  to  mc, 
my  dear  aunt.  I  know  how  to  steer  my  little  bark. 
It  has  mad  J  good  way  already.  I  am  considered 
an  influential  person  at  the  elections,  and  people 
make  up  to  me  in  consequence — the  Richers  on 
the  one  hand,  old  Oroixfonds  on  the  other.  I  am 
not  quite  sure  that  the  De  Vedelles  have  not  some 
notions  of  that  sort  too.  I  am  rather  inclined  to 
think  so;  but  the  future  will  show.  Now,  let  us 
go  to  dinner,  and  convtrce  whilst  wo  cut." 

They  all  went  into  the  house,  and  then  on  the 
terrace,  where  dinner  was  served  amidst  the  orange- 
tree?,  at  the  place  where  trie  view  was  most  beauti- 
ful and  extensive.  To  the  right  rose  tho  crested 
walla  and  picturesque  gateways  of  L;i  Ciotat,  sur- 
mounted by  the  roofs  of  the  houses.  Further  on  a 
high  rock  called  ihe  Eagle's  Beak  stood  out  in 
bold  relief  against  the  deep  blue  sky.  To  the  left 
a  beautiful  range  of  hills  enfolded  iho  buy  in  which 
lies  the  port  of  Touloi;  on  the  foreground,  ex- 
actly opposite,  was  the  picturesque  little  islet 
called  rile  Verto,  and  the  sea  glittering  like  burn- 
ished gold  in  the  broad  sunshir.c. 

It  was  just  at  the  sumo  hour  that  Gleorgo  do 
Vedelles  was  stan^Hng  at  his  window  absently  gaz- 
ing on  the  magnificent  landscape. 

"Does  not  the  sea  look  beautiful  from  my  ter-« 


i;! 


The  Notary's  Daughter » 


n 


race,  Eosette  V  Aunt  Mede  suid  to  her  niece.  "  We 
have  taken  away  all  the  palisade?  which  used  to  sur- 
round ic,  little  one,  to  prevent  your  falling  over  the 
^iiig^i  and  nothing  now  impedes  the  view." 

"0  Aunt  Mede  !  it  is  indeed  very  beautiful," 
the  young  girl  said,  and  then  for  a  moment  re- 
mained in  silent  admiration.  **  I  never  saw  so 
bright  a  sunshine  as  that  at  St.  B:'noit,  the  walls 
were  so  high."  And  then  the  conversation  turned 
again  on  the  inhabitants  of  the  chdteau. 

In  the  midst  of  Madame  Lescalle's  rather  prosy 
descriptions,  Mise  MeJ6  said,  "  But  you  only 
sp^ak  of  one  young  man.  I  thought  the  countess 
had  two  sons  ?  " 

"Yes,  Aunt  M^do,"  Rose  answered,  "there  is 
another,  the  youngest  son,  a  pale,  slight,  strange- 
looking  youth." 

"  No  one  pays  any  attention  to  him,"  Madame 
L'jscalle  rejoined.  "  He  is  a  funny  sort  of  creature 
— half-witted,  I  think.  Between  ourselves,  people 
S'ly  he  is  a/ac?a,*  and  I  dare  say  they  are  right."  ■ 

"Who  says  so  ?  "  M.  Lescallo  asked. 

"  Oh  I  I  don't  know — everybody.  Gautier,  the 
farmer  at  La  Pin6de,  who  sometimes  works  in  the 
garden,  and  Marion  the  milk  woman." 

"  What  do  they  know  about  it  ?  " 

"  Marion  says  that  aa  she  was  walking  in  the 
night  to  Beausset  with  her  eon  they  saw  a  ghost, 
as  they  thought,  walking  by  the  seaside.     They 


'     !    .i 


ii    n  , 


*Fada,  in  Iho  dialect  of  the  South  of  France,  doeii  not  mean 
exactly  an  idiot,  but  a  grown-up  person  who  remains  in  mind 
And  habits  a  child. 


^2 


The  Notary's  Daughter^ 


l^f  "'if 


i 

Miillli 


were  dreadfully  afraid  at  firsfc,  but  as  tliey  came 
nearer,  who  should  it  have  been  but  that  young 
De  Vedellcv^S  c  said  eomethinf?  to  him,  but  be 
did  not  answer,  and  walked  away  in  another  direc- 
tion. She  said  he  looked  as  pale  as  a  ghost,  and 
stared  ut  them  ever  so  strangely." 

**  IIow  can  you  listen  to  such  foolisli  gossiping 
stories.  Virgin ie  ?  "  the  notary  said. 

**  Oil !  I  suppose  you  think,  then,  that  there  is 
nothing  strange  in  a  man's  mooning  about  the  beach 
at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  he  ought  to 
have  been  in  bed.'* 

"  I  dare  say  it  was  some  piece  of  nonsense.  Per- 
haps he  meant  to  frighten  the  women  going  to 
market." 

"  Very  likely  indeed  ;  but  unless  a  man  isa/«(frt, 
he  does  not  play  such  tricks  when  ho  is  no  longer  a 
schoolboy.'' 

*'  Peihaps  if  this  poor  young  man  is  in  the  sta^e 
you  suppose,"  Aunt  Med6  said,  **  he  may  be  rest- 
less and  nervous.  Fadas  have  often  delicate  nerve?, 
and  are  bad  sleepers.  Did  the  countess  say  any- 
thing about  her  son's  health  ?  " 

*'  No  ;  but  I  think  she  seemed  a  little  ashamed 
of  him.  Siio  looked  quite  distjessed  when  he  left 
Eose  and  me  so  suddenly." 

"And  the  count?" 

**  He  did  not  mention  him  at  all,"  M.  Lescalle 
answered.     **  I  do  not  think  he  likes  him." 

"Poor  youth  !"  Mis4  M6d6  said,  **  who  would 
care  for  him  if  his  mother  died  ?  " 

<^  Do  not  distress  youiself  about  that,  my  dear 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


71 


aunt^,"  M.  Lescalle  answered.  "  His  father  is 
Very  rich,  and  ic  will  not  be  difficult  to  find  him  a 
wife.  When  a  man  can  give  Lis  son  fifteen  thou- 
eand  francs  a  year,  there  is  no  difficulty  in  getting 
some  one  to  look  after  him.'* 

*0  father  I''  Rose  exclaimed,  "who  would 
marry  a/<:«c/«?" 

**I  am  quite  of  Rose's  opinion,"  Mise  Mede  said. 

"Oh  !  I  don't  know,"  M.  Lescalle  rejoined.  **  \ 
dare  say  this  young  gentleman  would  make  a  very 
good  husband.  A  wife  would  do  what  she  liked 
with  him,  and  have  her  own  way  about  every- 
thing." 

"But,  papa,  this  M.  George  is  not  like  a  child 
who  "Would  do  all  he  was  told.  He  has  all  sorts  of 
strange  fancies  and  odd  obstinacies.  He  does  not 
want  his  father  to  cultivate  his  land,  because  he 
likes  the  flowers  of  the  capcr-bushcs.  He  will  not 
let  them- cut  down  a  branch  that  runs  into  his  win- 
dow, and  he  lives  in  a  sort  of  lumber-room,  where 
he  keeps  all  sorts  of  strange,  useless  things.  And 
he  does  not  dress  like  other  people ;  he  looks  so 
untidy — not  at  all  like  the  son  of  a  count." 

"What  Rose  says  is  perfectly  true,"  Madame 
Lescalle  rejoined;  "and,  moreover,  he  does  not 
eeem  to  understand  when  people  ppeak  to  him." 

"  All  this  may  be  as  you  say,  my  dear,"  her  hus- 
band observed,  "but  I  maintain  that  it  will  be 
easy  to  find  somebody  who  would  bo  glad  enough 
to  marry  this  youfh.  It  is  pleasant  to  have  a 
rich  husband,  and  to  be  called  La  Baronne  de 
VMclles." 


ill 


I 


S]1flJ  ] 


74 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


t( 


How  cau  you  talk  in  that  way,  Toussainfc?" 
Madame  Lescalle  exclaimed.  "  What  I  marry  a 
fada  f  It  is  dreadful  to  think  of.  It  gives  me  quite 
a  horror.  I  had  rather  hog  my  bread  than  have 
such  an  idiot  for  my  husband." 

"Well,  well,  Madame  Lescalle,  do  not  fly  into  a 
passion.     Nobody  wants  you  to  marry  him." 

The  convcrsition  then  turned  on  some  other  sub- 
ject, and  after  dinner  Mise  Mode's  relatives  took 
leave  of  her.  They  were  all  more  or  les8  thought- 
ful on  their  way  back  iii  town.  M.  Lescalle  was 
turning  over  in  his  mind  how  he  could  make  the 
most  of  his  T)osition  at  La  Pin^de.  His  wife  was  oc- 
cupied wiv  r,he  idea  of  sending  to  Paris  for  a  new 
gown.  Rose  involuntarily  dwelt  on  the  recollection 
of  Jacqueses  pleasant,  animated  countenance,  and 
mused  on  the  flattering  words  he  had  said  to  her. 
She  compared  him  in  her  mind  with  Artemon 
Richer  de  Montlouis,  the  lion  of  La  Ciotat,  and 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  son  of  the  Comte 
de  Vedelles  was  much  better  looking  and  more 
agreeable  than  tlie  said  Artemon  ;  but  t'lenwith  a 
sigh  she  thought :  **  He  is  going  back  to  Paris." 


til 


CHAPTKR  VT. 

AN   AOCIDEIST. 

Some  <3i;vs  after  the  first  visit  which  Mile,  de  la 
Piii^ile  h;«d  puid  to  tlie  De  Vedelle^^,  the  countess 
drove  to  Touioa  to  rctum  the  cawrpHment  and  to 
make  acquaintance  with  Dcuise's  aunt,  a  good- 
uaturcd,  commonplace,  elde  ly  lady,  who  was  very 
fond  of  Tier  nicer,  of  her  pet  dogs,  and  her  little 
comforts.  Dcnise  was  ont,  and  €0  Madame  de 
Vedellcshad  an  opporttrnty  of  spending  an  hour 
with  Madame  de  Biissac,  and  availed  licrself  of  it 
by  trying  to  find  out  whether  there  was  any  mar- 
riage in  ques  ion  for  the  ytmnghidy,  and  what  were 
the  ideas  of  her  annfc  and  her  guardian  on  the  sub- 
ject If  she  did  not  Buceced  in  obtaining  any  posi- 
tive information  about  it,  at  any  rate  phe  satisfied 
herself  thiit  at  present  there  existed  no  definite  ob- 
stacle to  tijc  scheme  which  she  had  formed  in  her 
own  mind. 

Madame  de  Brissac  said  that  her  niece  was  to 
spend  the  following  winter  at  hc^i*  guardian's  house 
in  Paris,  and  would  go  ont  in  the  world  as  she  !iad 
clone  before  her  father's  death,  under  the  chaperon- 
ago  of  Madame  Legrand,  who  had  daughters  of  her 
own^  and  iutlmate  connections  in  the  Faubourg  St 

7S 


Ill 


.101" 


T6 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


If  H 


Germain.  She  had  married  a  wealthv  banker,  but 
belonged  herself  to  an  old  Legitimist  family. 

"  She  will  not  long  enmin  unmarried,"  Madame 
de  V^dcUes  yenturod  to  say.  **  With  her  beauty, 
her  birth,  and  her  f^irtane.  Mile,  de  la  Pinede's 
hand  will  be  eagerly  sought  for." 

"  Ah  \  even  now/*  Madame  de  Brissac  said,  "M. 
Legrand  often  receives  proposals  for  her  from  vai*!- 
ons  quarters.  But  after  her  father^s  death  Denise 
declared  that  for  one  year,  at  least,  she  wished  noth- 
ing to  be  said  to  her  on  f  lo  subject,  and  neither  M. 
Legrand  nor  m  jstlf  can  get  her  to  speak  of  her  own 
mtenUons,  or  express  an  oi)inion  as  to  the  eligibility 
of  any  parti  offered  to  her  acceptance.** 

*' Perhaps  she  is  a  little  romantic,  and  means  to 
make  a  marriage  d^ inclination^*  Madame  do  V6- 
delies  said,  *' and  hau  not  yet  seen  the  person  who 
ma^  piease  her  fancy.** 

'■*  It  may  be  so.  Sae  is  rery  reserved  about  every- 
thing, is  Deaise.  She  made,  I  bcIicTe,  a  promise 
to  her  fath'jr  on  his  death-bed  not  to  make  anv  de« 
eision  for  a  certain  time,  and  meanwhile  I  really 
think  she  is  more  occupied  about  her  little  sailor- 
boys  than  her  suitors/^ 

Then  the  conTcrsation  changed,  and  soon  after- 
guards Mile,  de  la  Pinede  eome  into  the  room.  Ma- 
dame de  Yedelles  and  she  had  many  things  to  talk 
about.  Denise  was  much  intere.^ted  to  hearof  thai 
lady's  plans  of  opening  a  school  in  the  \illage  of 
Trois tour, which  was  at  a  distance  of  about  two  miles 
from  the  chateau,  and  also  of  obtaining  a  second 
priest,  who  would  assist  the  very  old  cure  of  that 


■.     ■    11*  l).!l.'|il--    I"    ill'. 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


77 


parish,  and  8uj  Ma-J  q^qij  day  iu  the  smail  chapel 
ill  the  grounds  cf  La  Pineoe,  which,  like  every- 
thing else  in  the  place,  had  beeu  shot  up  Acd  left 
in  utter  neglect 

Denise  had  all  the  savoir  faire  and  energy  in 
practical  matters  which  Madame  dc  Vedelics  was 
totally  deficient  in.  Her  co-operation  iu  thecC 
plans  was  therefore  singularly  nscfuL  S  le  pro- 
mised to  see  the  Ticar-gencral  of  the  diocese,  to 
write  to  the  superior  of  an  order  whic'i  feudi  out 
religious  schoolmistresses,  one  by  one,  into  remote 
and  poor  localities,  and  finally  to  go  again  herself 
to  La  Pinede  to  report  progress  and  confer  with 
the  countess,  as  soon  as  the  answers  reached  her. 

**  You  know  there  is  nothing,  my  dci./,  like  talk- 
ing over  ihcse  things  together,"  the  countess  art- 
fully observed.  "  More  business  is  done  in  a  quarter 
of  an  hour's  conversation  than  by  tvrenty  letters." 

They  were  still  eagerly  discussing  these  projects 
when  Jacques  de  Vedelles  called  for  his  mother, 
with  whom  he  had  driven  into  Toulon.  He  was 
presented  to  Madame  de  Brissac  and  quite  won 
tliat  lady's  lieai't. .  The  advice  he  gave  her  about 
the  proper  diet  for  her  dogs  was  proffered  in  that 
good  humored,  playful  manner  which  had  a  great 
charm  for  persons  of  all  sorts  and  all  ages. 

Chariot  himself  lo  ked  up  into  his  handsome 
face,  as  if  he  nppreciatcd  the  interest  evinced  in  his 
healtli,  and  Denise,  seeing  h'm  so  amiable  and  good- 
natured,  ventured  to  ask  him  if  he  could  recom- 
mend anything  for  the  cure  of  a  fick  poodle  she 
had  undertaken  th>it  raoming  to  prescribe  for. 


i^Hgi»  ■•£__ 1.  ^__— — —  - 

*           'it 

w 


78 


T/ie  Notary s  Daztghtcr, 


"  Is  ho  a  pet  of  yours,  mademoiselle  ?  Conld  I 
pec  him  ?  '^  Jacques  eagerly  enquu'ed* 

"  IIo  is  the  friend  and  companion,'^  she  an- 
swered, *'of  a  poor  blind  man  who  sits  on  th© 
quay  a  few  doors  from  the  corner  of  this  street^ 
and  who  is  in  despair  at  his  illness.  I  would  have 
taken  l.im  to  a  Teterinary  surgeon,  but  his  master 
couid  not  bear  to  be  wiihout  him  even  for  a  short 
time,  so  I  promised  la  get  some  one  to  look  at  the 
old  dog  and  siee  what  eould  bo  dono  for  him." 

"  If  my  mother  can  wait  a  few  minntea  I  will  go 
at  once,  and  give  master  and  dog  the  benefit  of  my 
advice.  I  consider  myself  clever  at  doctoring  ani- 
mals. At  Valsec  I  had  quite  a  reputation  amongst 
our  farm  laborer?.  Tliey  sold  M.  Jacques  had  a, 
gift  for  curing  beasts.  Have  you  not  heard  them 
say  so,  mother  ?  " 

**I  know  that  has- been  one  of  your  pretensions;^ 
dear  Jacques,  and  I  will  wait  with  pleasure  whilst 
you  do  Mile,  de  \,\  Pinede's  commission/' 

Jacques  was  absent  about  twenty  minutes,  Whea 
he  came  back  he  related  with  a  great  deal  of  fum 
and  animation  the  result  of  his  exertions  r  hmv  the 
case  had  seemed  to  him  beyoM  his  own  po Wei's  ;  how 
ho  had  ascertained  the  direction  of  tlie  dog-doctor» 
dragged  him  out  of  his  den,,  and  brought  him  in  pre- 
sence of  the  dejected  poodle;  tiovv  the  very  voice  of 
the  canine  iGscuhipins  had  raised  the  spirits  cf  the 
patient  and  made  him  wag  his  tail  ;  how  he  had 
prescribt?d  for  him  a  eertjiin  powder  mixed  with  his 
food,  and  a  more  generous  diet ;  and  that  not  be- 
ing quite  aware,  in  spiie  of  his  knowledge  on  the 


^r*"- 


The  Noti.rys  Daughter, 


79 


Bobject,  whafc  cocstltated  generous  diet  for  a  dog, 
Jucqaes  bad  given  a  piece  of  t^-enty  franca  to  hia 
master  and  requested  him  to  provide  it. 

**  I  assure  you,  mademoiselle,  that  I  left  tb© 
wbolo  party  in  a  bappy  framo  of  mind,  jour  Beiisa- 
ritts  declaring  that  when  Mile,  Donisc  took  any- 
thing in  bund  it  always  succeeded,  and  that  the 
dog-leecl"  .vas  a  very  clever  fellow,  and  your  bumble 
servant  worthy  of  entering  into  partnership  with 
him;  moreover,  that  Toupet  would  certainly  get 
well,  seeing  ho  would  have  the  boae  of  a  good 
cutlet  to  gnaw  this  eyeuing,  Betweeu  ourselves, 
my  belief  is  that  Toupcfc  wa3  dyin^  of  inanition^ 
and  that  when  you  walk  ibat  way  to-morrow,  ma- 
demoiselle, you  will  find  your  proUgo  perfectly  re- 
stored to  health," 

*'  How  very  good  of  yon,  M.  "!',>  T^uelies,  to  have 
taken  all  th'.s  troublo  !  You  must  be  experienced 
in  the  art  of  doing  kindnesses,  or  you  would  not  be 
sncb  a  proficient  in  it." 

"  Is  it  an  art,  mademoieello  ?" 

*'  If  not  an  art,  a  talent,''  Denise  replied.  "  There 
are  generally  three  or  four  ways  of  doing  a  kind 
ac  ior,  and  very  diHei-enfc  degixies  of  jiappiness  j»ro- 
ducjd  according  to  the  one  wo  adopt.'" 

'  I  had  never  thought  ol  that,"  Madame  de  V6- 
dailes  said.  "  1  never  see  but  ono  way  of  doing 
'.hings,  and  it  is,  I  daix)  say,  not  the  best." 

**  On  the  contrary,  dear  madamc,"  Denise  exclaim- 
ed. **  You  have  a  natural  spirit  of  kindness  which 
guidoi  you  better,  I  am  sure,  tbau  any  amount  of 
thinking  would  do»" 


!  I  'jS 


8o 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


**  You  are  right,  my  dear  ;  I  never  think  to  any 
good  purpose.' 

''^You  are  mi  taken  tbere,  my  dear  little  mo- 
ther/' Jacques  aHectionatcly  said.  "  You  are  not 
conEcionp  of  it,  bm  }our  mind  is  always  occupied 
with  plins  for  making  others  hap;>y." 

He  would  have  thought  so  still  more  if  he  cou'd 
have  read  her  thoughts  at  tht*t  moment ;  for  as  she 
looked  at  her  handsome  son  and  at  the  beautiful 
Denise  taiki  ,g  t  gether  of  the  blind  man  and  his 
dog,  and  s-jw  his  look  of  admiration  und  her  appa- 
rent pleasure  in  ii^teuing  to  Lis  [dayful,  amusing 
nonsense,  visions  were  passing  before  her,  all  tead- 
iDg  U)  his  happiucc*?  in  tljis  world  and  in  the  next. 

Provi'lenco  favored  her  matornal  wishes,  or  at 
least  seemed  to  favor  them,  in  an  unexpcted  man- 
ner, and,  Ijcing  the  most  unscllis  i  of  human  beings, 
she  Hjoiced  at  an  event  which  had  this  result, 
though  it  involved  suffering  to  herself. 

As  Jacques  and  she  were  returning  tbah  day  to 
La  rinedc,  a  horse  harnessed  to  a  light  cart,  which 
its  master  had  left  standing  at  the  door  of  a  pub- 
lic house,  took  fright  at  con^ething,  ran  away,  and, 
dashing  against  tlieir  caUcUe,  overturned  it.  Jacques 
esojp  d  unhurt,  and  so  did  the  driver,  but  Madame 
do  Vedelies*  collar-bone  was  broken  and  her  arm 
fractured. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  do  cribe  the  cons' crnatiou 
her  husband  and  her  son,s  evinced  in  different 
ways,  and  according  to  their  difftrent  characters, 
but  as  intense  as  possible  in  each  case. 

The  CountcBs  do  Vedellcs  was  one  of  thoi©  per- 


T!u  Notary's  Daughter, 


%\ 


Bons  who,  withoa':  cleverness  or  much  capacity  of 
any  sort,  and  apparently  singularly  helpless  and 
intfficicat,  by  dint  of  tenderness,  gentleness,  and 
unsclGsbncss  had  become  essential  to  her  family. 
As  is  so  often  the  case,  thongli  always  delicate  in 
health,  she  hardly  ever  had  been  seriously  ill,  a-  d 
when  it  crossed  their  minds  that  there  was  reason 
for  alarm,  ic  struck  tliem  for  the  first  time  tliat 
life  without  her  would  be  a  dreary  sort  of  thing, 
and  that  tbey  could  not  bear  to  look  such  a  misfor- 
tune in  the  face. 

The  old  count  seemed  timply  bewildered,  and 
walked  twenty  times  over  from  h  r  room,  where 
she  had  bj'en  carried,  to  the  drawing-room,  unable 
to  realize  that  she  was  not  going  to  spend  the  even- 
ing opposice  to  him,  as  sho  had  done  for  the  last 
twenty-eight  years.  George  seated  himself  ia  a 
corner  of  his  mother's  bed-Ciiamber,  and  remained 
there  with  his  eyos  fixed  upon  her,  till,  her  m  ans 
becoming  more  frequent,  ho  could  stand  it  no 
longer,  and,  snatching  up  his  hat,  rushed  out  of  the 
house,  threw  himself  down  with  his  Taco  on  the 
grass,  and  remained  in  that  posture  till  the  sur- 
geon, wliom  Jacques,  the  only  active  member  of 
the  family,  had  instantly  sent  for,  arrived  from 
Oiotat  and  set  the  injured  limbs.  He  said  the 
fracturos  were  serious,  but  still  he  hoped  all  vould 
be  right.  However,  the  next  day  a  great  ueal  of 
fever  came  o;i,  and  Jacques  proposed  to  hi^  fat/;ier 
to  send  forihe  beat  doctor  at  Toulon.  For  that 
purpose  he  wrote  to  Mile,  da  la  Pinedo  to  tjll  hor 
of  tho  accident,  and  to  beg  her  to  despatch  as  soon 


-s  i 


)*:■■J^.&  '^  .<:■.■■*'■ 


t'-m 


82 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


as  possible  wliomever  she  considered  io  be  the  ablest 
medic;«l  niaa  in  that  town. 

M.  Dubois  arrived  as  soon  as  could  be  expected, 
said  tiic  sta'e  of  the  countess  gave  ciuse  for  anxie- 
ty, bat  that  vvith  care  and  skilful  nursing  she  would 
recover.  Ho  recommended  that  they  should  at 
once  procure  an  experienced  nur^e,  and  oHered  to 
remain  himself  at  tlic  chdtcau  till  she  arrived. 

Jacques  again  sent  a  messenger  to  Madame  de 
Brissuc'd  house  w^th  a  letter,  in  which  ho  implored 
Deniso  to  secure,  ns  quickly  as  possible,  a  skilfui, 
devoted  sick-uurse,  repeu,tiog  what  M.  Dubois  had 
said — that  his  mother'a  life  would  most  likely  de- 
pend OD  the  cui'e  with  which  sbo  was  watched  for 
t)io  next  few  days  »▼""■  nights,  and  the  quiet  and 
presence  of  mind  of  ..ivsc  aboufc  her. 

In  a  very  short  time  the  answer  to  his  letter 
wa<;  brought  back.  It  was  aj  follows:  "M.  le 
Ccid TE :  I  know  of  no  one  in  this  town  whom  I 
could  /uUy  recommend  to  wait  on  your  dear  mo- 
ther at  this  critical  moment.  Wo  have  not  any 
Sceursda  Bon  Seenirs  here — none  but  paid  nurses, 
in  whom  I  have  little  conGdenoc.  It  seems  pre- 
sumptuous to  olfer  myself,  but  M.  Dubois  will  tell 
you  that  I  am  not  an  unskilful  nurse  ;  and  I  may 
venture  to  say  that  what  care  and  att*5ution  can  do 
will  v\s}\,  bo  wanting  on  my  part..  I  shall  start  in 
ai)  hour,  and,  if  my  earnest  prayers  arc  heard,  God 
will  bless  my  o2orts  to  be  of  u£j  to  one  for  whom  I 
feel  60  much  osteem  and  nffoction.^ 

"  (lod  bloss  lioi-  !/*  Jacques  (jacalated  ;  but  turn- 
ing to  the  dottiSi*,  who  was  »n  )  i.e  !    >.     he  said  ia 


:..LA^. 


-.  ,  »•■■  '   '■■     ■■■"  ■'''•*  ■ 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


83 


"  Mile,  (le  U  Pinedc — it  is  so 
to  come  and  nurse  my  poor 


an  anxious  manner  : 

kind  of  her — offers 

mother.    I  do  not  doubt  lier  good-will,  but  she  can 

have  no  experience.'" 

"  Has  r.ot  she  experience  ?  *'  M.  Dubois  rejoined. 
'*I  am  heartily  glad  of  what  you  tell  mc.  It  is  the 
very  thing  I  could  have  wished.  I  have  seen  that 
young  lady  at  work  ;  a  clearer  head,  a  lighter  hand, 
a  more  noiseless  tread  in  a  sick-room,  a  more  cheer- 
ful disposition  I  have  not  met  with  in  the  wholo 
course  of  my  prac  ice.  T  can  tell  you- that  you  are 
lucky  to  have  fouad  such  a  nurse  for  Madame  U 
Comtesse,  and  I  shall  go  away  easier  about  my  pa- 
tient now  that  Mile.  Denise  will  be  here." 

Little  had  the  old  count  and  his  sons  thought  to 
hare  seen  Mile,  de  la  Pinedo  so  soon  again  at  the 
chdfccau,  and  it  was  strange  to  witness  the  effect 
her  presence  prof^uced,  when,  scarcely  an  hour 
after  her  letter  had  reached  Jacques,  she  arrived. 

It  seemed  as  if  a  mountain'js  weight  had  been 
li'ted  off  the  jiearts  of  all  in  that  house,  a?  if  they 
breathed  more  freely,  and  instinctively  derived  hope 
from  the  proaence  of  that  gentle,  strong,  bright- 
looking  creature,  who  really  seemed,  so  George 
said  to  himself,  to  bo  an  angel  sent  to  their  assis- 
tance. 

When  Jacques  announced  to  his  suffering  mother 
the  arrival  of  Denise  and  her  object  in  coming  to 
La  Pincde,  a  faint  color  rose  in  her  cheeks,  and  eho 
said,  *' Thank  God  !  "  with  an  energy  which  almost 
surprised  her  son.  "The  sight  of  her  face  did  me 
good  at  once,"  she  told  the  count  the  next  time  he 


Kn 


«4 


The  Notar 


Daughter, 


camo  into  her  i-oom  after  Mile,  do  la  Pinede  had 
been  with  Ler.  "  I  had  been — I  am  ashamed  to  say 
— frctjing  because  my  illness  would  prevent  those 
two  from  meeting,  an  1  low  it  has  come  about  that 
it  has  actually  brought  her  under  our  roof.  Oh  I 
something  must  come  of  it,  I  am  sure." 

Something  was  hereafter  to  come  of  it,  but  not 
just  what  poor  Madame  de  Vedelles  expected. 

"Mind,"  she  said  to  her  husband  brforc  he  left 
her  that  afternoon — **  mind  that  you  insis't  upon  it 
that  she  should  have  all  her  meals  with  you  and  our 
80!5s.  She  must  not  shut  herself  up  in  my  sick- 
roon>,  and  sb  3  should  take  a  walk  every  day." 

\%  ^vas  a  peculiar  life  that  began  thai  d;iy  for  the 
inhabitants  of  La  Pinedc — a  life  t^  at  was  io  last 
about  three  weeks,  and  i hen  be  as  if  it  had  never 
been,  except  ii3  to  the  traces  it  loft  in  t  e  hearts 
and  secret  thoughts  of  each  of  the  De  Vedelle?. 

Deuise  coming  amongst  them  was  a  little  like  tl  o 
efTect  produced  in  llie  drawing-room  of  that  house 
when  M.  de  LeFcalle  had  thrown  open  its  wimdows 
and  let  in  air  and  sunshine. 

The  old  count  had  always  wished  for  a  daughter. 
Ho  was — 0  US6  a  French  vord — \ery  impress  mi- 
mUe,  and,  though  reaerred  and  stern  himself,  gayety 
had  an  irresistible  charm  for  him.  His  wife  had 
be^n  the  coflcfortof  his  life.  She  had  taken  away, 
as  far  aa  in  h^n  lay,  every  stone  out  of  his  path, 
tmoo'.ked  his  mental  pillow  from  morning  to 
night,  «  udied  €rfery  turn  of  his  counteniinct',  and 
reflected,  in  a  softened  and  gentle  form,  tiio  shades 
which  nad  saddened  his  existence    As  t&  hk  sons 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


85 


— of  Jacques  lie  w.os  both  proud  and  fond,  but 
there  had  never  been  any  intimacy  between  them, 
and  ho  had  b.come  so  early  a  complete  man  of  tho 
world,  and  took — even  at  nineteen  or  twenty — such 
a  matter-of-fact  view  of  men  and  things,  that,  in 
spite  of  his  handsome  face  and  lively  manners, 
there  was  nothing  really  young  about  him,  and  by 
tho  time  he  was  twenty-eight  his  father  often  felt 
himself,  in  some  respec  s,  the  more  youthful  of  tlje 
two.  lie  looked  up  to  Jacqucs  for  advice  in  world- 
ly matters,  and  loaned  upon  liini  in  all  that  had  to 
do  with  tho  practical  Fide  of  life. 

George,  as  we  have  already  said,  wai  levoml 
years  younger  than  lis  brother.  Tho  count  and 
his  wife  had  always  1  nged  vo  have  a  st'Oontl  child, 
and,  though  th<?y  would  have  liked  better  to  have 
Itad  a  girl,  bis  birth  gave  them  great  delight.  As 
a  littl)  child  1  o  had  boon  delicate  in  health,  and 
his  mother,  in  consequence,  had  spoilt  him,  which 
made  his  father  send  him  to  school  very  early.  Ho 
got  on  there  extremely  well  and  made  great  pro- 
gress in  his  studies.  AVheu  ho  was  about  twelve 
years  old,  Madame  do  V6dcllcs'  father  died  in  the 
island  of  Cuba,  and  it  became  necessary  for  her 
and  her  husband  to  go  and  look  after  tho  property 
which  she  inherited.  They  were  to  have  been  ab- 
sent for  fifteen  month i,  but  a  law-suit  w  ih  tho 
Spanish  Government  detained  them  there  five 
years.  During  all  that  timo  the  letteM  they  re- 
ceived from  France  Fpoke  of  George's  eucces^  »t 
his  college  examinatioBH,  and  ilio  prizes  ho  won  on 
every  occusion. 


86 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


His  masters  always  spoko  of  liis  excellent  abilities 
and  wonderful  facility  for  learning.  His  parents 
were  joyfully  anticipating  that  at  the  time  of  their 
retarn,  after  those  five  long  years  of  absence,  he 
would  be  preparing  for  his  examination  at  the 
Polytechnic  School,  and  that  tijpy  would  arrive  in 
time  to  enjoy  the  brilliant  success  with  which  he 
was  sure  to  pitts  it.  But  just  as  they  landed  at 
Brest,  in  all  the  happy  conCdencc  that  such  would 
be  tho  case,  they  found  a  letter  which  informed 
them  that  George,  exhausted  by  mental  anxiety, 
superadded  to  the  strain  of  the  last  few  mou  \\i 
intense  study,  had  been  seized  with  a  brain  fever 
and  was  lying  between  life  and  death ;  the  delicate 
organization  he  had  inherited  from  his  mothei^  h;ul 
given  way  under  this  fierce  pressure. 

The  unhappy  parents  rushed  into  a  post-c^iaise, 
and  in  forty  hours  were  sitting  oy  tho  bedside  ol 
their  dying  and  unconscious  son.  For  many  diiys 
the  case  seemed  utterly  hopeless,  and  the  eminent 
physicians  who  attended  him  said  his  reoovory 
would  be  little  short  of  a  miracle.  However,  most 
unexpectedly,  he  did  recover,  but  remained  in  % 
state  of  complete  prostration,  both  of  body  and 
mind,  so  weak  that  for  months  he  could  hardlj 
stand  or  walk  a  step,  i»nd  sunk  into  such  apathy 
that  nothing  could  rouse  or  interest  him.  The 
doctors  predicted  that  his  convalescence  would  be 
slow,  but  that  all  would  be  right  in  time  ;  what  ho 
reqniwd,  they  said,  was  absolute  rest  and  country 
air. 

M  de  Vedellea  settled  in  hia  own  place,  Valseo 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


87 


fn  Lorraine,  and  with  aching  hearts  iho  afflicted 
parents  brought  home  the  pale,  languid,  listless 
youth,  for  whom  they  had  anticipated  such  a  bril- 
liant career.  "^^  very  slow  degrees  the  bracing  air, 
sitting  out  in  i\Q  garden,  and  then  riding,  improv- 
ed George's  health,  aiid  his  physical  strength  gra- 
dually returned  ;  but  the  moral  apathy  remained 
the  same.  He  was  either  incapable  of  the  slightest 
mental  exertion  or  unwilling  to  make  it,  and  it  bo- 
came  very  difficult  to  say  w  other  the  condition  of 
his  brain  really  pr  eluded  work  of  any  kind,  or 
whether  a  morbid  discouragement  hud  taken  pos- 
eession  of  him.  lie  complained  of  frequent  head- 
ache, was  sonsi  ively  sufcoeptible  of  tho  changes  in 
the  weather,  irritably  impatient  of  noise,  wayward 
in  temper,  and  inert  in  mood. 

IIo  had  been  spoilt  as  a  child, and  spoil  tat  school 
by  t)  e  perfect  facility  with  which  he  had  carried 
everything  before  him,  aid  mastered  without  ef- 
|m't  what  to  othciS  wore  diffiuultiea.  His  mother 
Watched  hifri  tvjtli  an  r  ixious  affection,  but  she  had 
no  discernment  of  character  and  never  saw  what  wa-i 
not  obvious.  Ilis  father  at  first  kept  observing  every 
turn  of  hi3  countenance,  listened  to  eacli  word  ho 
uttered,  and  devoted  himself  to  him  with  a  res'lcsa 
Bolicitndc.  But  when  nearly  three  years  had  elapsed 
and  no  chanj.;o  took  pLce,  he  could  hardly  restrain 
the  irritabilify  and  arinoyanco  he  felt  at  George*3 
prolonged  apathy  and  entire  idlenesF,  especially  T7hen 
his  bodily  health  returned  and  ho  w  #  able  to  ride 
for  jiours  and  tuke  long  walks  all  over  <ho  country 
with  or  without  a  gun  on  his  shoulder. 


I  r; 


;  I  ? 


88 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


There  was  no  doubt  that  George  was  by  nature 
indolent,  absent,  and  careless  about  many  things. 
These  defects  had,  of  course,  increased  to  an  extra- 
ordinary degree  since  his  illness.  Wliat  had  been 
looked  upon  as  mere  originalily  in  the  bright  and 
clever  boy  of  twelve  became  intolerable,  in  his  fa- 
ther's eyes,  in  ihe  Inzy,  incapable,  and,  in  raomeuts 
of  bitterness  the  count  internally  added,  the  half- 
witted youth,  whom  ho  was  ashamed  of,  and  whose 
actual  condition  so  p  linfully  contrasted  with  the 
bright  promise  of  his  childhood. 

The  more  irritable  his  father  became,  the  more 
plainly  he  showed  a  sort  of  aversion  to  him,  the 
more  George's  silence,  reserve,  and  apparent  indif- 
ference to  everything  increased.  Nothing  p'ovokt  d 
the  count  so  much  as  to  see  him  sitting  for  hours 
gazing  on  the  sea,  or  at  the  clouds,  or  m  the 
evening  at  the  stars,  or,  if  there  was  a  fire  in  the 
room,  at  the  blazing  faggots  and  the  fparks  'hey 
emitted. 

Ho  had  a  habit  of  scribbling  on  fragments  of 
paper,  and  then  tearing  them  up  and  throwing 
them  away,  which  provoked  M.  do  Vedelles,  but  he 
seldom  took  the  trouble  of  writing  a  letter.  *  *'It 
made  his  head  ache,"  ho  said.  ILid  his  father  been 
m'>ro  kinil,  or  had  his  mother  been  clevirer,  or  had 
his  brother  in  the  least  understood  his  character, 
this  state  of  things  could  not  have  existed  ;  but  as 
it  was,  there  seemed  littlo  hope  of  a  change. 

The  domestic  life  of  the  family  had  thus  settled 
into  a  groove  which  was  fatal  to  the  happiness  of 
its  members.    Jacques'  principal  wish,  in  epite  of 


The  Notary\  Daughter. 


89 


his  real  affection  for  his  mother,  was  to  f^et  away  ; 
for  the  others  the  future  seemed  sad  enough. 

It  was  therefore  singularly  refreshing  to  all  when 
a  ne^  element  wa^  ntroduced  into  that  home  circle 
by  Mlic.  de  la  Pinede's  presence.  The  c  unt  was 
cUurmed  with  his  voung  gnest.  How  could  it  have 
been  otherwise?  He  saw  her  skilful  care,  her 
.watchful  nnrsing,  her  swc  fc  ferenity,  working  a 
rapid  improvement  in  his  wife.  S'^e  was  soon  pro- 
nounced out  of  danger;  and,  as  xt  as  ler  health 
was  concerned,  quickly  became  convalescent.  Her 
only  anxiety  seemed  lest  she  should  get  well  too 
soon. 

It  was  touching  foseo  the  little  artifices  she  had 
recourse  to  in  ordor  to  keep  up  rho  idea  that  her 
life  depended  on  Denis j's  care.  How  they  all  leant 
upon  this  young  girl,  nd  what  a  strange  influence 
she  soon  possessed  over  that  father  and  those  two 
sons,  so  different  from  one  anOi,her,  yet  each  of 
1  hem  feeling  that  there  was  Fome.hing  in  her  no- 
bler, purer,  and  higher  tlian  ^hey  had  evr'r  beforo 
known  !  And  with  all  that  superiority  of  character 
and  mind  sha  was  so  u  mple,  so  innocently  gay,  so 
femininely  attractive. 

The  count  had  never  met  with  a  woman  at  all 
1  ke  Deiiise  de  la  Pinede.  Ho  had  known  bad 
and  good  women,  charming  and  dis  grceable 
women,  clever  women  and  silly  women,  free- 
thinking  women  an  i  pious  women,  but  never  «;no 
who  uni  ed  so  much  enthusiasm  with  so  much 
practical  g^od  sense,  one  so  bold  and  fearless  in 
defence  of  all  s'le  believed  and  honored  and  loved. 


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Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  '.VEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14SB0 

(716)  872-4503 


90 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


BO  unccmpromicing  a;.cl  yet  so  fair-minded,  eo  just, 
BO  tolerant  of  difference  of  opinion  in  others,  wiiilst 
BO  firm  in  her  own  convictions.  He  found  pleasure 
in  drawing  her  out.  He  provoked  arfjument  for 
the  sake  of  hearing  her  speak  in  that  peculiarly 
musical  voico  which  was  one  of  her  attractions, 
rnd  watching  the  eloquent  expression  of  her  dark 
eyes.  And  then  her  mirth,  so  llko  the  ripple  of  a 
stream  or  a  child's  laugh,  was  wonderfuLy  refresh- 
ing to  the  old  man,  who  had  lived  so  long  alone 
with  his  gentle  but  saddened  wife,  whose  gayety 
he  hud  crus-hed  long  ago  and  then  unconsciously 
missed  it,  and  Jii-j  two  soas,  who  for  different  rea- 
sons were  not  happy  in  their  home.  He  was  the 
most  openly  devoted  of  the  three  to  Mile,  de  la 
Pin<jde.  He  walked  wiih  her  up  and  down  the  ter- 
race during  the  short  moments  she  could  be  induced 
to  leave  the  tountesij'  sick-room,  and  after  dinner 
detained  her  a  Utile  while  in  the  drawing-room, 
and  made  her  sing  to  him  "  Lo  Fil  de  la  Yierge.*' 

Jacques  rapidly  fell  in  love  with  Denise,  and  at 
tix'  end  of  a  week  made  up  his  mind  to  propose  to 
her  as  soon  as  her  stay  at  La  Pin6dc  came  lo  en 
eiid.  He  did  not  much  doubt  that  she  would  ao- 
copfc  him,  nor  did  ^t  cross  his  mind  that  the  dis- 
siii.ilarity  of  their  ideas  and  fieliiigs  would  prove 
an  obstacle.  He  was  under  the  impression  which 
at  that  time  was  prevalent  in  France,  that  religion, 
thoug:;  superfluous  for  a  man,  was  a  sort  of  ntces- 
sity  for  a  woman  of  the  bcvter  sort — for  the  sort  of 
woman  ho  shoul<l  like  to  marry  ;  ho  did  not  at  all 
object  to  a  pious  wife.     It  did  not  occur  to  him 


r-ijijisikf  i 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


9« 


that  she  would  object  to  an  unbelieving  busban(3. 
lie  thougbt  of  ber  as  tbe  future  young  ComtcBse 
tie  Vedelles,  wbo  would  make  a  great  scnsatipn  ia 
Paris,  and  do  tbo  bonors  of  a  salon  where  statesmen 
would  congregate  and  men  of  letters  flock.  Siie 
bad  read  a  great  deal,  sbe  was  eloquent,  she  bad 
wealthy  relatives  and  distiuguii?';cd  connections. 
He  could  not  imagine  a  more  perfectly  suitable 
parti  for  one  wbo,  like  himself,  bad  tbe  desire 
and  tbo  ability  to  play  a  part  in  political  and  so- 
cial life. 

Denise  vtas  very  amiable  in  ber  manner  to  bim« 
She  was  naturally  kind  to  every  being  that  ap- 
proached ber — there  was  not  a  dog  or  a  cat  about 
the  place  to  whom  sbe  did  not  say  a  good  word  as 
she  passed  by  the  kennel  or  the  sunny  wall  on  which 
puss  V  as  often  seated.  As  to  the  children  of  tbe 
gardener  and  tbo  shepherd,  they  watche  1  for  hours 
together  in  hopes  that  the  beautiful  lady  who  was 
staying  at  the  chateau  might  stop  before  their  pa- 
rents* cottages,  p;it  tiicm  on  the  cheek,  and  give 
them  bon-b'jus — that  necessity  of  life  to  French 
children. 

One  very  bold  urchin  made  his  way  one  day  to 
the  terrac  •,  and  was  looking  up  in  hopes  of  seeing 
tbo  bes  ower  ot  pralines  and  sucre  de  pomme  appear 
at  a  wind<>w.  But  instead  of  tbo  face  which  he 
expected  to  i«»je,  a  very  pale  and,  it  seemed  to  the 
child,  very  'cern  one  looked  down  upon  him,  on 
which  bo  began  to  cry  and  ran  away.  At  tbe  bot- 
tom of  the  stairs  leading  down  from  the  terrace 
he  suddenly  came  face   to  face  with  Mile,  de  la 


^P^ 


1 

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«» 

92 


The  Notary' s  Daughter. 


Pin6(le,  who  sat  down  on  the  steps  and  took  him  on 
her  knees  to  comfort  him. 

"  What  arc  you  afraid  of,  littb  one  ?  "  she  said, 
stroking  his  hluck  hair  with  1  er  soft  white  hand. 

'^  I  am  afraid  of  the /«<:?«,"  he  answered,  hiding 
his  face  in  her  hreast. 

Dcnise  was  not  acquainted  witli  this  Provenyal 
word,  and  supposed  it  to  mean  a  iiobgoblin  ;  but 
anxious  to  stop  the  chihl's  crying,  \<hich  she  was 
afraid  Madame  dc  Vudelles  misfht  overhear  from  her 
room,  tried  to  lead  him  away.  At  that  moment 
George  a[»poared,  carrying  in  his  land  the  box  of 
toys  which  had  remained  in  his  room  since  the  day 
of  Dcni-e's  first  visit. 

*'0h!  this  is  very  opportune,"  tihe  exclaimed; 
and  seizing  on  a  hun  er  in  a  red  coat  and  a  sheep 
with  a  pink  collar,  she  displayed  them  to  the  aston- 
ished eyes  of  little  Pierre,  who  now  looked  at 
Georjic  with  awe,  but  lets  terror  Ihan  before.  Ho 
evidently  thought  him  still  a  very  strange  being, 
but  not  as  evil-minded  as  ho  had  supposed. 

"Will  you  take  hm  home,  M.  George,'' Denise 
said,  *•  and  let  l.im  carry  away  those  treasures  with 
him  ?  But  tell  his  p-irents  to  try  and  prevent  his 
coming  up  to  the  terrace.  Yourfiither  would^have 
been  very  angry  if  he  had  heard  him  crying  under 
the  windows.     I  must  go  now  io  your  mother." 

George  took  the  child's  hand,  and  they  walked 
towards  the  shepherd's  hut ;  Pierre  looking  up  at 
him  now  and  then,  half-afrai  I  and  half-eonCding. 
When  I  hey  reached  the  cottage,  George  told  Ma- 
dauic  Lubin  whatDenise  had  eaid  and  went  away. 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


93 


She  proceeded  to  scold  Pierre  for  Lis  anducity, 
and,  the  better  to  secure  his  keeping  away  from 
tho  awful  precincts,  told  him  that  if  he  ever 
trespassed  again  in  tho  neighborhood  of  the  cha- 
teau, that  gentleman  who  had  brought  him  back, 
and  who  was  afada,  would  wnng  his  neck  just  as 
She  was  at  that  moment  going  to  do  to  the  superan- 
nuated hen  she  held  in  her  hand,  doomed  to  the 
pot  au  feu.  After  that  day  Pierre's  little  com- 
panions, when  they  saw  Georgo  walking  on  the 
road  (  r  on  the  B<iashore,  always  ran  away  in  a  fright, 
screaming  out,  **The/ac7«,  the  fada!^* 

We  have  said  ard  shown  that  Denise  was  kind 
to  every  rne,  pnd  to  Jacques  as  to  everybody  else. 
And  then  slie  spoke  to  hiniBometimes  in  a  very 
earnest  manner.  During  the  hours  when  she  had 
sat  by  Madame  do  Vedelles  bedside,  the  poor 
mother  had  spoken  to  her  cf  her  sorrow  that 
this  eldest,  bright,  hopeful  son  of  hers  had  lost 
the  faith  of  his  childhood  and  ceased  to  prac- 
tise his  religion.  At  that  limo  in  Franco  this 
was,  however,  so  commonly  tie  case  with  tho 
young  men  of  his  age  that  it  appeared  even 
to  a  pious  mother  no  strange  thing  She  had 
lived  for  thirty  years  with  a  husbu^d  indiffer- 
ent to  religion,  and  surrounded  by  porpons 
holding  infidel  opinions.  This  had  blunted  the 
edge  of  her  grief  with  regard  to  her  son,  though  it 
did  not  efface  it ;  but  Denise,  whoso  character  was 
stronger,  whose  zeul  was  more  ardent,  whose  love 
of  God  was  a  deep,  engrossing,  supreme  affection, 
could  not  look  unmoved  on  what  ehe  felt  to  be 


ill 


am»ii 


S>4 


T/tt^  Notary  s  Daughter. 


such  a  great  calamity,  could  not  converse  without 
emotion  on  subjects  which  related  to  the  existence 
or  the  absence  in  a  soul  of  that  faith  which  was 
the  mainspring  of  her  whole  being. 

So  when  she  talked  to  Jacques  of  anything  relating 
to  i^,  when  she  watched  the  effect  of  her  earnest 
words  upon  him — and,  like  uP  earnest  words,  ihey 
sometimes  did  affect  him — there  was  an  expression 
in  her  countonanca  and  a  thrill  in  her  voice  wliic  i, 
poor  vain  man  I  he  ascribed  to  a  personal  feeling 
of  interest  in  him,  Jacques  de  Vedelles,  not  to  tho 
intense  solicitude  which  one  who  has  at  heart  the 
glory  of  God  and  the  Balvadon  of  souls  feels  xU 
every  creature  who  is  severed  from  t'iC  source  of 
life  and  light,  and  the  ardent  desire  to  bring  it  back 
to  a  sense  of  its  high  destiny.  He  could  not,  have 
conceived  that  the  look  of  joy  which  beamed  in  her 
speaking  eyes  one  day,  when  ho  had  uttered  words 
which  implied  that  ho  meant  to  think  and  act 
differently  with  regard  to  religion  than  he  had 
hitherto  done,  couid  proceed  from  a  disinterested 
anxiety  for  his  salvati  m. 

Ho  would  have  believed  i*^,  perhaps,  if  he  had 
ever  followed  Denise  in  the  hospitals  or  in  the 
homes  of  the  poor.  Ho  would  then  have  seen  her 
beautiful  faco  lighted  up  with  tho  same  exulting 
gratitude  when  some  poor  wretch,  who  had  been 
curbing  and  blaspheming,  perhaps,  during  the  long 
course  of  a  sinful  and  miserable  life,  with  soften- 
ed heart  and  tearful  eyes  for  the  first  time  prayed 
or  kissed  the  crucifix  she  held  to  his  lips,  or  wljen 
a  poor  girl  on  the  brink  of  sin  and  shame,  saved  by 


r 


l)"'"i 


■"W^T""^^^ 


ii»n 


TJu  Notary  s  Daughter, 


95 


her  tender  euergy,  turned  from  the  tempter  and 
followed  her  to  a  place  of  Eafety. 

It  was  natural  he  shonld\herish  hopes  founded 
on  a  mistake  and  indulge  in  anticipations  which 
reconciled  him  to  her  departure,  for  ho  felt  that  i* 
was  not  durittt^  her  stay  at  La  Pinede  that  he.  could 
propose  to  Denise  ;  and  that  being  the  case,  he  al- 
most lon-jjed  for  the  dav  when  she  would  return  to 
Toulon,  aud  he  would  feel  at  liberty  to  offsr  her 
his  hand,  which,  to  suy  the  truth,  he  did  not  much 
doubt  s'le  would  accept. 

Madame  do  Vedelles  had  unconsciously  contriv- 
ed to  cxcilc  in  Denise  a  strong  interest  in  both  her 
sons  :  in  JacqUv.s  by  speaking  of  hira,  by  dwelling 
on  his  good,  qualities  and  his  talents,  which  had 
already  begun  to  display  taemselves  at  the  har, 
and  then  of  t'lat  absence  of  faith  and  that  scepii- 
cal  spirit  which  enlisted  against  religion  and  the 
Church  capabilities  which,  rightly  directed,  might 
have  made  him,  the  poor  mother  fondly  thought, 
a  Moutalembert,  an  Ozj.nam,  or  a  Burryer. 

As  io  George,  she  had  been  profoundly  silent ; 
but  what  with  her  compassionate  tone  when  shB 
spoke  to  him,  his  father's  ill-disguised  contempt,  a 
few  words  which  had  been  dropped  by  a  servant, 
and  also  his  absence,  his  oddities,  and  the  wild, 
anxious  expression  of  his  eyes  at  times,  Denise  had 
eusiiy  como  to  the  conclusion  that  the  name  of 
fada,  which  she  had  heard  applied  to  him,  meant 
idiot,  and  that  the  poor  young  man  was  really  half- 
wittcd.  Still,  she  had  her  doubts  ;  these  doubts  led 
her  to  seek  for  opportunities  of  conversing  with  him, 


s    i. 


96 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


and  gradually  her  opinion  on  this  point  was  shaken 
and  her  curiosity  strongly  stimulated.  Now  and 
then  George  said  things  wliich  astonished  her  by 
t!:e;r  originality  and  depth  of  thought,  bat  he 
never  kept  up  a  conversation.  He  generally  sat  in 
a  corner  of  the  room  where  he  could  watch  her  un- 
observed, but  hardly  answered  her  qucstious  or 
seemed  to  attend  to  what  she  said,  unless  they 
happened  for  a  moment  to  be  alone  together,  and 
then  he  was  so  agitated  that  lie  sometimes  said  in- 
cohei-ent  things. 

She  felt  very  sorry  for  him,  and  had  a  suspicion 
that  his  relatives  were  altogether  mistaken  about 
this  young  man  ;  but  she  did  not  Tenture  with  any 
of  them  to  approach  tha  subject.  There. seemed  a 
sort  of  tacit  agreement  that  in  her  presence  George 
was  not  to  be  taken  notice  of,  and  they  never  men- 
tioned him  any  more  than  if  he  had  not  existed. 
Ho  did  not  seem  conscious  of  this  sort  of  moral 
ostracism,  and  went  on  leading  much  the  same  life 
as  usual,  sitting  sometimes  by  his  mother's  couch, 
gentle,  silent,  and  abstracted  ;  only  he  remained 
more  at  home,  and  was  often  on  the  terrace,  whence 
he  could  see  into  the  drawing-room  where  Denise 
spent  part  of  the  mornings  busy  with  church  work. 
She  had  undertaken  to  make  the  altar  linen  for 
the  little  chapel  which  was  to  be  used  for  Mass  as 
soon  as  the  arrangements  with  the  bishop  were 
concluded.  When  she  read  aloud,  as  she  often 
did,  to  Madame  de  Vedelles,  he  stood  hid  behind 
the  open  window  listening. 

Meanwhile,  the  countess  recovered  rapidly,  and 


ill 


TJie  Notary  s  Daughter.  97 

Denise,  in  spite  of  her  entreaties  that  she  would 
prolong  her  stay,  fixed  tho  day  for  her  departure. 

''But  you  will  return  for  the  openinir  of  the 
chapel  ? "  X         ^ 

''  Perhaps,  dear  rrierjl,"  D.nise answered  ;  ''but 
I  can  make  no  promise." 

As  she  looked  up  from  her  work  she  %aw 
George's  eyes  fixed  upon  her  with  an  expression 
which  startled  her.  It  was  one  of  entreaty,  of  deep 
sadness,  of  pathetic  meaning. 

"  Do  tell  my  mother  that  you  will  coma  back," 
he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  have  made  a  vow  to 
Our  Lidy  of  la  Garde  to  do  for  you  whatever  you 
ask  me,  if  you  will  promise  to  come  back  for  the 
opening  of  our  chapel.*' 

"  What  a  rash  vow  I ''  Denise  said,  with  a  smile. 

"Very  rush,"  he  said;  '-for  I  should  keep  it 
whatever  it  was." 

Denise  thought  a  moment,  and  revolved  in  her 
mind  the  hold  which  tha";  singular  promise  might 
some  day  give  her  over  that  lingular  youth,  whom 
she  could  not  help  feeling  a  deep  interest  in,  and 
then  £he  said  gayly  :  "  Well,  if  I  can,  I  will." 

"  '  I  wiir  means  nothing,"  Madsmo  do  Vudelles 
said,  laughing,  "with  the  proviso  of  if  I  can.'' 

'*  Would  you  have  me  promise  to  do  somethin<y 
impossible  ?  *'  ^ 

"Ye3,"  George  eagerly  said.  ''I  want  you  to 
do  something  impossible.'  lie  finished  the  sen- 
fcence  only  in  thought,  and  mentally  added,  "  And 
that  would  be  to  care  for  me," 

Denise  was  going  away.    She  had  been  singing 


ili 


m 


m 

i 

Bb 

^ 

1 

;  iBfl!  ! 

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1 

^^ 

i 

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i  M 

■^.M 

98 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


to  the  count,  for  the  lost  time,  his  favorite  song, 
"Al  pie  d'un  Salice."  And  then,  the  carriage 
being  announced,  she  kissed  the  conntess,  and 
was  escorted  to  the  door  by  M.  de  Vedelles  and 
Jacqnes.     George  was  nowhere  to  be  seen, 

"How  like  him,"  the  count  exclaimed,  '*not 
to  be  here  to  take  leave  of  Mile,  de  la  Pinede !'' 
Then  he  thanked  Dcnise  for  all  she  hud  done  for 
his  wife,  and  handed  her  into  ihe  carriage  with  a 
strong  hope  in  his  mind  that  she  would  be  one  day 
his  daughter-in-law. 

The  caUche  drove  away.  Where  the  while  was 
George  ?  Climbing  up  the  sugarloaf  hill,  whence 
ho  could  SCO  for  miles,  amidst  clouds  of  dust,  that 
vehicle  rolling  along  the  road  to  Toulon. 

The  count  glanced  at  his  eldest  son,  and  saw 
that  he  looked  troubled  and  excited,  and  thought 
it  time  to  break  silence  on  the  subject  which  he 
felt  Gure  was  in  both  their  minds. 

He  put  his  hand  on  Jacques*  shoulder,  and 
said  :  *'  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Jacques  ?" 

*'  What  am  I  thinking  of  ?  Nothing  that  I  kuow 
of,  father—  " 

"  But  I  do  know,  and  I  can  tell  you." 

**  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  You  are  thinking  of  that  charming  girl  who 
has  just  driven  away." 

"  Well,  I  do  not  deny  it." 

"  You  admire  her ;  you  are  in  love  with 
her  :" 

"  I  am  not  prepared  to  say  no  to  that  either." 

"  And  what  do  you  mean  to  do  ?  " 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


99 


**  Well,  if  you  have  no  objecion^  I  mean  to  pro- 
pose to  her."    -  * 

"She  would  boa  very  suitable  match  for  you, 
and  she  is  certainly  a  very  attractive  person.*' 

"Who  arc  you  speaking  of  ?"  asked  ihe  countess, 
who  had  just  been  wheeled  upon  the  terrace  in  her 
garden-chair.  *'*• 

When  her  attendant  had  withdrawn,  her  hus- 
band said,  "  Dcnise  de  la  Pinede." 

**  And  what  were  you  saying  about  her  ?'* 

*' Jacques  wants  to  propose  to  her." 

**  0!i  I  I  am  so  glad.  And  you,  of  course,  ap- 
prove of  it  ?  ■* 

"  I  cannot  see  any  objection  to  such  a  marriage  ; 
her  family  is  just  as  good  as  ours^  and  she  has  a 
fortune  of  five  hundred  thousand  francs. '* 

"She  is  so  very  handsome,"  Madame  de  Vedelles 
added,  in  her  somewhat  dejected  tone  of  voice. 

"  Not  too  han  jsome,  is  she,  mother  ?  "  Jacques 
said  with  a  smile.  "  If  you  had  said  too  rJigious, 
I  mighi^,  perhaps,  have  been  inclined  to  agree  with 
you.  But,  no  ;  I  should  not  like  her  to  be  in  any 
way  different  from  what  she  is.  I  believe  I  should 
not  have  lost  my  heart  half  so  quickly  to  her,  if  she 
had  nut  been  bent  on  converting  me." 

"  0  Jacques,  you  will  indeed  bo  a  happy  man  if 
you  marry  Denise  ! " 

Jacques  huggtd  his  mother,  as  he  used  to  do 
when  ho  was  eight  years  old,  and  then  his  old 
father.  Rushing  into  the  house,  he  shouted :  "  Vin- 
cent, order  my  horse  immediately." 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?'*  asked  the  count. 


!   i 


ICX) 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


''  To  Toulon." 

"  Not  to-dfty  ?  " 

"Yes,  10-day.  1  shall  sleep  at  the  Grand  Cert, 
and  call  at  Madume  de  Brissac's  to-raorrow  morn- 
ing. The  first  year  of  Dcnisc's  mourning  for  her 
father  ends  to-morrow.  She  will  see  that  out  of 
respect  for  her  feeling*  I  waited  till  that  day  to 
propose  to  her.'* 

*'  Well,  be  off,  my  dear  boy,  and  God  speed  you 
on  your  errand  !"  his  fat'icr  said,  and  Ids  mother 
added,  *'  God  bless  you,  my  dear  son  I " 

At  about  two  o'clock  the  next  day  Jacques  rode  up 
the  avenue,  his  horse  in  a  sweat  and  hia  clothes 
white  with  dust.     He  looked  pule  and  jaded. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  "  his  mother  anxiously 
asked,  as  he  came  into  the  drawing-room,  where 
she  and  her  husband  were  si' ting. 

''  Something  we  did  not  foresee,  mother." 

"What?" 

"  She  has  refused  me." 

"  Refused  you  I"  Madame  de  Vedelles  exclaimed, 

"  Yes,  without  hesitation  and  witho^^it  agita- 
tion. I  spoke  of  hope,  and  she  said  there  was  no 
hope.  S  e  was  as  calm,  as  kind,  as  decided  as 
when  she  refused  to  sing  *Gastilbelza,*  the  song  I 
had  bought  at  Marseilles." 

"Tais  is  a  ead  disappointment,"  Madame  de 
V6delles  sighed,  with  tearsin  her  aye-'. 

The  count;  cleared  his  throat  and  took  up  the 
newspaper  ;  but  laying  it  do«'n  again,  looked  at 
his  son  and  in  a  husky  voice  said  :  "  You  will  not 
break  your  heart  about  her,  Jacques  ? '' 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


Oh  I  dear,  no  ;  I  s'.all  noh  die  of  it,  nor  even 
raake  a  vow  never  to  marry.  I  did  not  expect  to 
have  ever  been  so  eentimental ;  but  nothiug  cnre, 
one  so  qu,okly  of  that  iaBrmity  as  the  cold  shower- 

f,?i,      7'?"^  ""  »l>«'l'>te  and  civilly  gracious  re- 
fusal   I  shall  go  to  Paris  in  a  few  days." 


Hi 


r'  V  .«^  ai« 


CHAPTER  VII. 


COMPLICATIOlfS. 


Several  days  elapsed,  and  no  one  at  the  chateau 
made  uny  allusion  to  Denise.  Jacques  found  it 
hard  work  to  get  over  his  disappointment,  and 
Ijnged  for  the  moment  of  departure.  George,  to 
whom  not  a  word  had  been  said  of  what  had  been 
going  on,  was,  as  usual,  silent.  The  old  count,  al- 
most as  vexed  as  his  son  at  the  result  of  the  jour- 
ney to  T  on,  took  refuge  in  politics,  and  lield 
long  conversations  with  J.jcques  about  his  prospcoha 
at  the  approaching  elections. 

A  request  had  been  made  to  him  to  stand  for  the 
department,  M.  Oesaire  de  Croixfonds,  who  was  to 
have  done  so,  having  apparently  been  unable  to 
buy  a  property  which  would  have  made  him  eli- 
gible. This  incident  happened  luckily  at  the  very 
moment  when  the  thoughts  (f  father  and  son  were 
particularly  prepared  to  indulge  in  ambitious  pra 
jeots,  and  day  after  day  they  had  gone  through  cul- 
oulations  in  the  morning  and  in  the  afternoon, 
paid  visits  in  the  neighborhood,  in  order  to  feel 
their  ground  and  sound  the  dispositions  of  the 
electors. 

The  result  of  their  investigations  showed  that 

.    ioa 


The  Notary  s  Daughter,  j  03 

parties  were  very  evenly  balanced,  and,  as  the 
Baron  de  Oroixforids  had  also  discovered,  that  M. 
Lescalle's  influence,  and  the  votes  he  could  com- 
mand, would  probably  turn  the  scale  one  way  or 
the  other, 

"Would  he  be  well  disposed  towards  us?" 
Jacques  asked  his  father. 

*a  really  cannot  (ell.  He  had  given  f  le  Baron 
de  Oroixfonds  great  hopes  that  he  would  support 
hia  son  in  case  of  his  standing,  but  somebody  said 
the  other  day  that  he  threw  him  over,  and  is  hand 
and  glove  now  with  the  Richcrs  de  Montlouis.  M, 
Jules  R  Cher  is  .he  ultra-Liberal  candidate,  yoJ 
know."  •' 

"  I  had  better  call  on  Madame  L?scalle,  and  try 
to  obtain  her  good  graces  " 

"  I  suspect  that  she  has  not  much  iufiuence  with 
her  lord  and  master— that  is  to  suy,  she  rules  the 
menage,  but  when  it  comes  to  business  or  politics, 
he  is  absolute." 

"How  can  wc  get  round  him  ?" 
:.,    "  We  can  ask  him  to  dinner  before  you  go,  and 
judge  of  his  dispositions." 

"In  the  meantime  I  shall  leave  my  card  at  the 
Maison  Lescallo.  Such  little  attentions  are  never 
wholly  unacceptable." 

On  (bo  afternoon  of  the  same  day  is  he  wes  re- 
turning from  Lt  Oiotaf,  Jacques  met  his  brother, 
and  was  struck  with  his  paleness  and  look  of  mom 
than  ordinary  dejection. 

"  Are  you  ill,  George  ?  "  ho  said,  in  a  kind  man- 
ser. 


104 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  " 

"You  don't  look  at  all  well." 

"Oh  !  I  am  quite  well.  There  is  nothing  the 
matter  with  me." 

" I  am  not  at  all  convinced  of  lliat.  I  have  ob- 
served that  for  some  days  you  have  looked  anything 
but  well.    You  must  take  care  of  yours'lf,  George." 

"  Oh  I  I  shall  take  a  long  walk  to-morrow  ;  that 
rJoes  me  more  good  than  anything  when—" 

"  When  you  feel  ill.  What  is  the  matter  with 
you  ?  " 

George  hesitafed  and  seemed  about  to  answer, 
but  he  stopped,  turned  away,  and,  as  if  speaking  to 
himself,  said  :  "  Oh  I  these  last  twelve  days."      - 

Those  words  struck  Jacques.  It  was  just  twelve 
days  since  his  own  unsuccessful  journey  to  Toulon. 
As  his  brother  walked  away,  he  locked  at  him  in  a 
thoughtful  and  anxious  manner,  then  went  out 
himself,  and  for  nearly  an  hour  paced  slowly  up 
and  down  the  avenue.  At  last  he  stopped,  and,  as 
if  ho  was  making  up  his  mind  to  an  effort,  came 
back  to  the  house  and  walked  straight  into  his 
father's  study. 

The  Count  de  Vedelles  was  writing,  and  said, 
without  looking  up:  "What  do  you  want, 
Jacques  ?  " 

"I  want  to  speak  to  you  about  eomething  which 
is,  I  think,  of  Qonsrquencc." 

"  About  your  election  ?  " 

"  No  ;  it.  is  about  George." 

"  Oh  :  George  again,"  the  old  man  said,  with  a 
look  of  weaiiness.     "  Well,  what  is  it  ?  " 


Tlie  Notary's  Daughter, 


105 


'*  Bo  "is  not  well,  jind  if  we  do  not  take  care,  be 
will  get  worse,  b  )th  in  body  and  mind.  I  suspect 
he  spends  Ms  nights  wandering  about  the  grounds. 
I  found  out  accidentally  that  he  had  not  gone  to 
bed  at  all  the  night  before  last." 

M.  de  Vedelles  made  a  gesture  which  meant, 
"  Why  was  I  not  told  of  this  before  ?  " 

**  I  did  not  speak  about  it,  because  I  knew  how 
much  it  must  vex  you,  and  then,  as  I  could  not 
imagine  any  rea=on,  or  tbiak  of  any  remedy  for 
this  increasing  depression,  I  'bought  it  better  not 
to  thwart  his  fancies.  But  I  am  getting  anxious 
about  him.  Ho  is  looking  very  ill,  he  has  lost  hi» 
appetite,  ho  is  more  silent  and  abscraoted  than 
ever,  and  sometimes  his  absence  is  so  great  that  I 
can  hardly  rouse  liim  from  it.' 

"  My  dear  Jacques,  all  this  is  not  new  to  me. 
Your  mother  has  noticed  it  as  well  as  yourself,  and 
it  m  ;kei  her  vpiy  unhappy.  But  what  cm  wt^  do  ? 
We  have  tried  everything  we  c»uld  think  of  to 
fouse  him  out  of  this  apathy.  I  am  afraid  there  is 
nothing  to  be  done.  Speaking  to  him  about  his 
health  only  serves  to  irritate  him.'* 

**  But  I  ihink  I  have  found  out  the  cause  of  this 
increased  dejection." 

"  Have  you  ?    What  is  it  ?  " 

**  He  is  in  love." 

"  In  love  !  Georgo  I  Oh  !  then  that  would  ex- 
plain those  long  walks  and  winderings  about  the 
country.  And  you  have  found  out  the  secret,  and 
know  who  It  is  le  has  taken  a  fancy  to.  A  peasant- 
girl,  I  suppose — one  of  the  farmers'  daughters  ?" 


i\\ 


i"^k   ;4_| 


io6 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


\       "  Jfo  ;  not  at  all  a  peasant-girl  I " 

**  Some  cne  at  La  Oiotat,  then  ?  That  would  be 
better.  If  she  is  a  respectable  girl  and  tolerably 
well  connected,  why,  really  it  would  be  no  bad  thing 
to  get  him  married.  I  h  ;d  often  thought  that  as 
there  is  no  hope  of  his  entering  ino  any  profession, 
this  would  be  the  best  thing  ihat  could  happen." 

"But  iinfoitunatel>  it  is  Mile,  de  la  Pinede  he 
has  fallen  in  love  with." 

"Deulsel  Nonsense!  I  don't  believe  a  word 
of  it." 

*'  But  I  am  quite  certain  it  is  so.  I  suspected  it, 
and  just  now  something  be  said,  half  unconscious- 
ly, proved  I  am  right." 

"Then  I  don't  see  what  is  to  be  done.  She 
would  certainly  not  marry  him." 

"  No,  indeed,"  Jacques  said,  glancing  at  his  own 
handsumc  face  in  the  glass.  '*  A  girl  who  has  re- 
fused me  would  not,  I  suppose,  think  of  marrying 
George.  But  what  can  we  do  about  this  poor,  ^lear 
boy?-' 

"  You  think  much  too  seriously,  I  am  sure,  of 
this  fancy  of  \\u.  Well,  suppose  he  imagines  him- 
self in  love  with  Mile.  Dcnise,  it  is  only  because  she 
is  the  first  pretty  girl  he  has  met  and  talked  to. 
We  could  easily,  if  he  has  taken  a  sentimental  turn, 
lead  his  affec  ions  in  gome  other  more  possible  di- 
rection. The  fact  is,  he  is  bored  to  death.  With- 
out occup-^tion  of  any  sort,  without  interest  in  any- 
thing, hia  life  here  is,  of  course,  dreadfully  dull. 
Ho  will  never  be  able  to  take  care  of  himself ;  and 
a  good,  sensible  wife,  pretty  enough  to  please  hia 


t      * '.      i  '.        ' ' 


T/te  Notary s  Daughter. 


107 


fancy,  would  be  ibe  making  of  3'our  brotber.  Do 
you  know  ibat  this  idea  is  quite  a  relief  to  me  ? 
Can  ^ou  think  cf  any  one  that  would  do  for  liim  ? 
We  must  not  be  too  particular.  People  in  our  own 
rank  of  life  would  obj  ct  to  marry  their  daughters 
to  such  a  poor  creature  as  George,  consiuering  he 
has  no  great  jy«r/f,  and  will  never  get  on  in  life. 
But  what  I  can  fettle  upon  him,  and  the  title  of 
baroiiue,  would  tLrow  dust  into  the  eyes  of  many 
an  honest  roiurier.'^ 

Jacques  reflected  a  moment,  and  then  a  smile 
hovered  on  his  lips.  *'  Oh,  father  1  wbat  a  cipital 
stroke  of  policy  for  both  your  sons  I  liave  thought 
of.' 

"  Wbat  are  you  thinking  of  ?  " 

** Suppose  that  witb  one  a  one  ycu  should  kill 
two  *  birds.* " 

**  What  t  wo  birds  ?    S))eak  out." 

**  Well,  you  know  that  M.  Lei-calle  holds  the  fate 
of  the  nex'^  election  completely  in  bis  handp.  This 
is  the  case  beyond  a  doubt.  Uq  Las  been  up  to  this 
time  playing  oil  the  Croisfonds  and  the  Richers 
against  one  another.  Now  it  appears  that  Oesaire 
de  Croixfonds  is  out  of  the  fieldj  and  the  choice  lies 
between  M.  Richer  and  me.  Would  not  the  excel- 
lent TouEsaint  like  his  pretty  daughter  to  be  Ma- 
dame la  Baronne  de  VeJellcs  ?  and  you  would 
really  have  a  very  nice  little  daughtei^n-law." 

"I  wonder  if  he  would  agree  to  it,"  the  count 
said,  greatly  excited.  '•  Of  course  it  would  secure 
your  election  at  once.  The  joke  in  the  neighbor- 
hood has  been  that  the  representation  of  this  de- 


'-'i       _  '■"- 

'  4 
-    I: 

sS^^^^^^^^hI^^B^S  ' 

■■  '^^^^^^^^^Kk^' 

io8 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


partment  is  a  part  of  Mile.  Rose's  marriage  por.ion, 
and  wo  could  go  much  farther  and  fare  worse.  The 
parents  would  be  a  great  nuisance,  but  the  girl  is 
nice  enough. '^ 

"She  is  a  charming  little  thing.  Let  us  lose  no 
time  about  it.  That  gigantic  swell,  M.  Artemoii 
Eicher  de  Montlouis,  is  said  to  be  very  much  fasci- 
nated by  the  notary's  daughter,  and  they  may  en- 
gage themselves  b  yond  recovery  if  speedy  mea- 
sures to  cut  him  out  are  not  taken," 

"I  shall  write  at  once  to  Lcsca.le  and  ask  him 
to  come  here  to-morrow.  He  wants  tlieEast  Farm 
for  a  client  of  his,  and  I  shall  put  our  friend  in  a 
good  humor  by  telling  him  that  I  have  made  up  my 
mind,,  for  his  sake,  to  let  Jean  Benard  have  it." 

"  Bravo  !  I  already  see  myself  M.  le  Depute  des 
Bouchcs  du  Rhone,  and  my  pretty  sister-in-law  iu- 
fitalled  at  the  chateau.  We  shall  then  see,  I  sup- 
pose, the  acacia  branch  cut  at  last.  Poor,  dear 
George  !  It  is  realy  a  capital  plan,  if  only  he  falla 
into  it." 

"  Of  course  he  will,*'  the  cosnt  answered.  *'  We 
shall  have  to  tell  him  that  Mile.  Denise  is  as  much 
eut  of  his  reach  aa  the  moon,  and,  once  convinced 
of  that,  he  will  be  cnclianted  to  fall  back  on  the 
fair  Rose  we  shall  liave  provided  for  him.  You 
had  better  not  say  anything  of  all  this  to  your  mo- 
ther at  present,  she  is  over-anxious  about  things." 

To  the  disappointment  of  the  count  and  his 
eldest  son,  an  answer  was  sent  to  say  that  M.  Les- 
calle  was  absent,  and  not  expected  homo  for  some 
days.     Jacques  put  off    again  his  departure  for 


The  JSiotarys  Daughter, 


109 


1. 

4    £( 


Paris,  wishing  to  keep  up  his  father  to  tlie  plan 
they  had  formed,  and  to  see  the  affair  fairly  starfc- 
ctl.  Ill  the  meaiibime  he  was  assiduous  in  his  at- 
tentions to  t'losc  he  looked  upon  as  his  future  oon- 
stiaents,  .and  made  himself  very  popular  1:1  the 
neighborhood. 

George  looked  every  daj  more  fad  and  dejected. 
There  had  been  no  conimunication  between  Ma- 
dame do  Vedelles  and  Mlie,  de  la  Pinede  since  she 
had  refused  Jacques ;  but,  four  or  Jive  days  after 
the  one  when  he  had  spoken  to  \\i  father  of 
G-eorgo's  state  of  mind  the  conn  toss  received  a  let- 
ter from  Denisp,.  enclosing  one  from  the  vicar- 
general,  announcing  that  a  second  priest  had  been 
appoinled  at  Los  Trois  Tours,  and  would  begin 
saying  Mass  oFery  day  at  the  ehapel  in  the  grounds 
of  La  Pinede  as  soon  as  he  received  notice  of  M. 
and  Madame  de  Vedelles'  wishes  on  the  subject. 
Denise  had  informed  the  vicar-general  that  the 
countess  would  answer  his  leltcr  herself,  Sh^ 
added  kind  and  affectionate  expressions  as  to  the 
health  of  Madame  de  Vedelles,  but  said  nothing  as 
to  their  meeting  again. 

The  last  day  of  the  month  of  May  was  fixed  upon 
for  the  opening  of  the  chapel.  It  was  to  be  a  very 
simple  function.  There  bad  been  plans  for  the  for- 
mation of  a  choir  under  Denise's  direction,  and  the 
music  for  the  occasion  had  been  chosen  during  her 
stay  at  Li  Pinede.  But  all  this  having  fallen  to 
the  ground  since  her  departure,  and  the  unfortu- 
nate result  of  Jacques^'s  visit  on  the  following  day, 
there  was  nowr   to  bo  only  a  Low  Mass  at  eight 


II 


J 


l2-  -i  'tf'-\ 


'.  ='"  It: 


tio 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


3 

! Uiil 


o'clock  in  the  morning.  A  box  containing  all  the 
things  fihe  had  worked  for  the  altar,  and  another 
with  all  those  she  had  ordered,  at  Madame  de  V6- 
delles'  request,  from  a  shop  at  Marseilles,  arrived 
the  day  before  that  of  the  opening. 

George  necmed  excited  at  the  sight  of  these  cases, 
and  when  his  mother  went  to  the  chapel  to  see 
them  nn|>acked  and  arranged,  and  to  meet  the 
young  priest  from  Les  Trois  Tours,  ho  followed  her 
there,  and  exerted  himself  more  than  he  had  done 
about  anything  since  his  illness  in  helping  to  orna- 
ment the  aliar. 

On  the  following  morning  Madame  de  Vedelles, 
in  her  Bath  chair,  and  her  husband  and  her  eldest 
son  on  foot,  crossed  the  garden  an.l  entered  the 
chapel.     The  count  went  because  it  would  not  have 
looked  well  in  the  eyes  of  his  servants  and  tenants 
if  he  had  not  done  so ;  Jacques,  because  he  did  not 
like  to  vex  his  mother  by  staging  away.     George 
had  preceded  the  rest  of  the  family,  and  whin  they 
arrived  was  sitting  on  one  of  the  benches  witli  1  is 
head  leaning  on  his  hands.    WI.en  Mass  began*  ho 
knelt,  but  oiherwise  remained  in  the  same  position. 
Once,  just  after  the  Elevation,  he  raised  his  head, 
and  then,  in  a  little  tribune  on  one  side  of  the  cha- 
pel,  which  was   reached  by  a  side  entrance,    he 
caught  sight  of  a   face   which  at  tliat  moment, 
and  to  his  excited  imagination,  seemed  a  heavenly 
vision.     The  expression  of  devotion  in   that  up- 
turned countenance  was  more  lioly,  more  beautiful 
than  anything  he  had  ever  seen  or  dreamed  of. 
It  was  the  face  indeed  whicli,  from  the  first  mo- 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


Ill 


ment  he  bad  beheld  it,  he  bad  thoaghfc  the  most 
perfect  ideal  of  pure,  high,  and  lofty  womanly 
beauty.  But  never  had  it  seemed  to  him,  Ouring 
those  many  hours  he  had  watched  it,  not  even 
when  it  bent  in  gentle  sweetness  over  his  mother's 
sick  couch,  half  so  beautiful  or  so  ani^el-like  as 
now,  in  t!  ^  attitude  of  ardent  prayer  and  adoring 
love.  So  holy  was  its  look  that  it  impressed  him 
with  a  feeling  of  awe.  He  dared  not  continue  to 
gaze  upon  it  in  that  Sacred  Presence  he  had  al- 
ways believed  in,  but  which  that  expression  <  f  fer- 
vent adoration  seemed  to  impress  upon  him  more 
vividly  than  ever.  Ho  again  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands;  a  mute,  silent,  instinctive  ])riiyer  rose 
from  his  heart,  which  softened  ihc  dull,  ac!»ing 
pain  so  long  felt  and  never  spoken  of. 

When  M  is3  was  nearly  over  he  glanced  again  ak 
the  tribune,  but  it  was  empty,  and  ho  asked  him- 
self if  he  had  imagined  or  seen  a  vision,  wheUier 
Denise  had  really  been  in  that  spot  a  moment  ago, 
or  if  it  had  been  a  mere  illusion. 

He  walked  homo  like  a  person  in  a  dream,  and 
never  uttered  a  single  word  during  breakfast-time, 
and  when  his  father  and  his  brother  had  left  the 
room,  sat  opposite  to  his  mother,  still  plunged  in  a 
deep  fit  of  musing. 

"  George,"  she  gently  said,  "  I  have  a  message  ta 
give  you." 

**  A  message?"  he  said  ;  "I  cannot  think  who 
can  have  any  message  to  send  to  me." 

"  I  have  just  uoen  given  a  letter  from  Mile,  de  la 
Pinede." 


X 


112 


The  Notary  s  DangJiicr, 


A  liectic  red  spot  rose  0:1  George's  pain  clieeka. 

*'Slie  was  in  the  cliapel  this  morning.  S  e  says 
that  she  had  promised  u^  to.  bo  present  at  the  first 
Mass  that  should  be  said  there^  and  that  though,  at 
present,  'tis  better  for  all  parties  that  s'.e  shouM 
not  come  here,  as  of  coui'sc  it  is,  s*  e  felt  that  she 
must  keep  her  word,  and  that  with  all  her  heart 
she  united  her  prayers  wiUi  ours;  and  thei  she 
adds  :  '  Will  you  tell  ^\.  George  that  I  have  kept 
my  promise,  and  that  I  may  some  day  claim  the 
fuinimcntof  his?'" 

*' Mother,  what  do  s  it  all  mean?"  George  ex- 
claimed, starting  to  his  feet.  *'What  has  hap- 
pened ?  Whit  is  changed  ?  Why  does  she  stay 
away  ?" 

Madame  de  Vedelles  hesHated  a  moment,  and 
then  thought  it  better  to  let  him  know  the  truth. 

"My  dear  b^y,  if  30a  had  not  been  so  absent,  so 
nnobserv^ant,  you  would  have  guessed  what  has 
taken  place.  Your  br<^ther  fe  1  in  love  with  Mile, 
tie  la  rinede,  and  the  day  after  she  left  us  went  to 
Toulon  and  proposed  to  her.  I  am  sorry  to  say 
that  she  refused  him/  It  was  a  groat  disapp -int- 
ment  to  him  and  to  us." 

"Jacques?  She  refused  him?  Thank  God  T' 
he  added  in  so  low  a  voice  that  his  mother  did  not 
hear  those  last  words-  "  And  she  has  sent  me  that 
message.     She  remembers  my  vow." 

lie  darted  out  of  the  room  and  rushed  through 
the  olive-woods  to  the  sea-shore.  His  head  was 
aching  with  (xcitemcnt,  and  daring  the  rest  of  the 
day  he  could  only  sit  with  his  forehead  resting  oil 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


113 


his  Lands,  or  walk  up  and  down  the  beach  repeat- 
ing to  himself,  *'  S  e  lias  refused  Jacques.  S  le 
has  sent  me  that  message." 

It  was  a  d;iy  or  two  after  tlie  opening  of  the  cha- 
pel that  M.  Losctllc  citne  back  to  Li  Ciotat,  and 
he  lost  no  time  in  obeying  the  count's  summons, 
which  he  found  on  his  arrival.  But  between  that 
arrival  and  \A-i  visit  to  the  chateau,  short  as  the  in- 
terval had  been,  something  had  happened  which 
made  him  look  singularly  radiant.  Pleasant 
thoughts  were  evidently  in  his  mind,  and  he  kept 
rubbing  his  fat  hands  together  every  five  minutes, 
as  if  to  relieve  the  ovei*flo\ving  exuberance  of  hia 
spirits. 

The  fact  was,  that  an  hour  after  his  return  he 
had  received  a  visit  from  M.  Richer  de  Monilouis, 
the  father  of  M.  Artemon,  and  that  after  a  few 
preliminary  remarks  that  gentleman  had  said  to 
him  : 

"  M.  Lescalle,  roy  object  in  calling  upon  yon  is 
an  important  one.  I  come  to  ask  your  daugbtei*'s 
band  in  marriugefor  my  son  Artemon." 

The  notary  rather  expected  this  proposal,  but  he 
thought  it  right  to  appear  surprised- 

**  How  comes  it,*'  he  said,  *'  tlmt  such  an  honor 
is  done  to  us  by  the  first  family  in  the  town  ?  "  - 

**  For  the  best  r.  ason  possible  in  such  a  case,  M. 
Lescalle.  Artemon  could  not  meet  your  lovely 
daughter  and  remain  indifferent  to  her  great  at- 
tractions. She  has  made  the  deepest  impression  on 
my  son's  heart,  and  you  will  make  him  the  happiest 
of  men  if  you  accept  him  as  a  "an-in4aw." 


Ff 


114 


The  Notary s  Daughter. 


"Rose  is  very  young,  ^  de  Montlouis." 

"That  is  a   defect    wliich   \»ill    aLuiys   go  on 
diminisliing,"  the  banker  said,  with  a  broad  smiJc. 

"I  urn  afraid  the  fortune  I  can  give  her  will 
seem  to  you  very  small." 

"  You  '^ive  her  — " 

"  Forty  thousand  francs." 

"I  had  been  told  sixty  thonsatid  francs." 

"No,  M.  de  Montlouis,  forty  thousand  ;  and  I  as- 
sure you  that  even  that  is  almost  beyond  my  means." 

"  Well,  you  will  [)crhaps  reco.  sider  the  matter 
before  we  finally  fix  the  sum,  my  dear  M.  Lesc.iile. 
I  do  not  want  you  to  give  me  a  positive  answer  at 
once,  not  today  I  mean.  You  must  wish,  of 
course,  to  consult  Madame  Lescalle,  only  I  flutter 
myself  that  if  you  are  friendly  to  us  there  will  be 
no  difSculties  in  the  way." 

"  You  have  no  doubt,  I  hope,  of  my  friendly 
feelings  ?  " 

"  WeH,  well,  my  dear  M  Lescalle,  you  have  not 
always  be»  n  our  friend." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  my  dear  sir  ?" 

"■  Come,  let  us  speak  openly.  We  are  on  the  eve 
of  an  election.  My  brother  is  going  to  stand,  and 
you  know  that  you  promised  to  support  M.  Cesaire 
f!o  Croixfonds." 

"Ah  !  I  thought  as  much,"  inwardly  ejaculated 
the  notary.  "  The  electii>n  is  at  the  bottom  of  the 
marriigc,  to  a  great  degi-ee,  at  any  rate." 

"  What  I  promised,"  he  answered,  "  was  to  help 
M.  <ie  Croixfonds  to  qualify  himself  by  the  pur- 
chase of  an  estate  in  this  par*i  of  the  country." 


The  Notary s  Daughter,  115 

''Yes,  exactly  go,  to  set  up  ano;her  caiididjUe. 
J  hanks  Lo  your  good  offices,  he  was  very  near  pur- 
chasing Li  Pinede  for  u  song." 

"I  acted  as  his  lauyer^and  a  friend  of  hitj 
family.  \  have  no  wish  to  injure  your  brother's 
position." 

**  But  if  we  come  to  an  agreement  regarding  this 
proposal  I  have  just  made  to  you,  I  suppose  that  in 
the  event  of  any  one  else  standing  we  can  reckon  on 
your  support  ?  " 

**  I  am  not  pledged  to  any  one  else." 

"Then  I  can  solicit  your  votes  for  mv  son's 
nncli>.  On  another  occasion  you  will  give  them  of 
your  o\in  accord  to  your  son-in-law." 

"  What  docs  your  son  intend  ?  " 

*;  Artemon  has  no  settled  plans  of  the  kind  ;  but 
seemg  ihat  for  the  last  ten  years  he  has  set  his  face 
against  marriage,  and  now  has  completely  given  in 
I  have  no  doubt  it  wiil  be  the  same  as  to  his  career! 
1  am  sure  that  as  a  married  man  he  will  be  a 
model  of  steadiness." 

"It  is  never  too  late  to  mend,  certainly,  but! 
suppose  there  is  room  for  improvement,"  M.  Lcs- 
calle  said. 

"  Oh  !  of  course,  he  has  been  a  little  wild,  like 
all  young  men.  There  is  no  harm  in  that.  He 
has  sown  his  ♦vild  oats.  You  were  just  as  uas'eadv 
once,  and  only  think  what  an  excellent  husband 
you  have  made." 

M.  Lescallo  did  not  much  like  this  allndon  to 
his  past  life  ;  but  as  it  was  a  home-thrust  that 
could  not  well  be  ponied,  he  thought  it  best  to 


wm^^mmm^ 


Ii6 


f:i| 


r 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


drop  the  subject,  and  the  two  genilecniii  parted  on 
the  most;  CDrdiul  terras. 

As  soon  us  M.  do  Montlouis  was  gono,  M.  Les- 
callo  rnslied  to  his  wife's  room. 

"  Virginie/**  he  said,  '*  we  are  going  to  marry 
Rose." 

"To  Artemon  Richer?" 

**  Then  it  is  no  surprise  to  you  ?  " 

*^Isaw  his  father  goin^;  into  your  «  ffice,  and  I 
immediately  gussseJ  what  he  was  cjme  about.  I 
knew  that  it  would  end  ia  that  way." 

**  I  suspect  that  their  auxiety  about  the  el  ction 
and  securing  my  votes  hurried  on  the  proposal. 
I  shall  not  thinlc  of  giving  them  »:ioro  than  forty 
tho  sand  francs  with  Rose;  it  is  quite  enough, 
considering  that  it  will  be  my  doinri^  if  M.  Jules 
Richer  is  elected.'' 

"  Oh  !  certainly  it  is  quite  enough,  and  Rose 
snch  a  pretty  girl,  too,  in  tlie  bargain." 

"Very  pretty,  no  doultt ;  but  I  can  tell  you, 
Madame  Loscullo,  tha*';  her  blue  eyes  would  not  have 
made  up  for  the  loss  of  twenty  thousand  francs,  if 
it  had  not  been  for  the  vo  es  1  can  command," 

**  Artemon  is  very  much  in  love  with  her." 

**  So  much  the  better.     And  Rose — ^lias  she  seen 
im  f 

"I  <3oa'fc  know  ;  I  have  looked  after  her  very 
closely.  M.  Artemon  is  apt  to  flirt  with  young 
ladies,  and  I  was  determined  that  nothing  X  the 
sort  should  go  on  till  he  had  proposed." 

"  You  were  quite  right,  but  now  jou  can  speak 
to  Rose.    Do  you  think  she  will  bo  pleased  ?  " 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


**I  should  fancy  so  indeed — ^sucli  a  tall,  hand- 
some fellow,  and  so  adraircd  by  everybody.  There 
she  is,  Toussaint,  jas*-.  como  back  from  Les  Oupu- 
cins.  She  has  spent  the  morning  with  Aunt 
Med  6.  Lea  re  us  together.  I  shull  speak  to  hei' 
at  once.  It  would  be  too  formal  if  you  were  \v. 
the  room." 

*•'  Very  we'.l,"  M.  Lesculle  answered,  and  away 
he  went  to  Ms  office. 

A  moment  afterwards  Rose  came  into  hor  mo- 
ther's room.  She  looked  like  one  of  Greuzo's  pic- 
tures in  her  large  straw  hat,  ornamented  with  a 
wreath  of  wi.ld  flowers  ;  her  pretiy  soft  hands  and 
arms  holding  up  the  skirt  of  her  pink  gingham 
frock,  which  enabled  her  to  carry  an  immense 
bunch  of  flowers  gathered  in  Mi86  M^d6'8  garden. 
With  her  fair  hair  hanging  about  her  face,  the 
colo?*  in  her  cheeks  deeper  still  than  usual  after  her 
walk,  and  that  harvest  of  roses,  no  painter  could 
have  sketched  a  more  perfect  image  of  spring. 
Breathless  and  smiling,  she  ran  up  to  her  mother 
and  kissed  her. 

"Sec,  mamma,  what  lovely  flowers  I  I  have  ran- 
sacked Mise  Muvle's  ^ar/erre.'* 

"They  aro  beautiful/'  Madame  Loccalle  an- 
swered, glancing  at  the  roses,  "but  I  am  not 
thinking  of  nosegays  now.  Can  -ou  guess  wha*:  I 
have  heard  ?  " 

"No  J  what  is  it,  mamma  ?" 

**  Some  one  has  proposed  for  you,  my  dear." 

"For  me— really !    Who,  maujma  ? " 

**  Can  you  gaess  ?  '* 


ii8 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


"Ko,  maiDma,"  Rose  answered,  opening  Tery 
wide  her  large,  blue,  innocent-looking  eyes. 

**  Well,  Ar^oraon  Richer  de  Montlouis  wisiies  to 
marry  you." 

R  se's  countenance  changed,  her  handti  loosened 
their  hold  of  her  gown,  and  all  her  flowers  fell  at 
her  feet. 

**  You  said  the  other  day,  marnma,  that  I  was 
too  young  to  be  married." 

**  Your  father  does  not  think  so.'' 

"Are  you  speaking  quite  in  earnest  about  it, 
mamma  ?  '* 

**  0  '  !  yes,  my  dear,  as  earnestly  as  possible." 

*'  But  mammu,  you  did  say,  the  day  befoi*e  yes- 
terd.iy,  that  I  was  a  great  deal  too  young  to  be  mar- 
ried." 

*•  Oh!  that  is  what  one  always  says  when  there  is 
nothing  actually  in  question  about  a  girl's  mar- 
riage, and  no  one  has  yet  ppopoped  for  her;  but 
people  do  not  throw  away  the  chance  of  a  good 
match  on  the  score  of  a  person's  youth.  You  are 
very  difficult  to  please  if  you  are  not  delighted 
with  this  proposal.  Artetnon  Richer  is  the  best 
parti  and  the  liandsomest  man  in  tliis  place." 

Rose  said  nothing.  She  knew  her  mother's  par- 
tiality for  the  handsome  Artemon,  and  felt  that 
nothing  she  co'^ld  say  would  bo  understood.  She 
sit  silently  listening  lo  Madame  LescaDc's  com- 
ments on  her  extraordinary  good  luck  till  some 
visitors  were  announced  ;  then  hastily  rising,  she 
threw  her  hat  covered  with  flowers  into  a  corner, 
and  went  straight  to  her  father's  study.    She  found 


TJi£  Notary's  Daughter. 


19 


lean 


mg  on 


him  seated  at  Hi's  bureau,  with  bis  head 
his  hand.     He  was  calculating  all  the  advantages 
he  expected  to  derive  from  a  connection  with  the 
Richers  dc  Montlouis, 

Rose  tried  to  steady  her  voice,  and  said,  '•'  Dear 
papa,  mamma  has  just  told  me — *' 

"  Oh  I  indeed.  So  you  have  heard,  little  girl,  of 
the  conquest  jou  have  made.  Well,  it  ia  of  some 
use  to  bo  oretrv." 

**  And  so  M.  Artemon — " 

"Will  be  your  husband,  little  lady,  in  three 
weeks." 

*^Not  so  soon  as  that,  papa,  I  hope.  I  don't 
know  him  afc  all." 

•  "Well,  I  know  him,  my  dear,  and  that  is  qui  e 
enough.  You  and  he  will  have  plenty  of  time  to 
get  acquainted  when  you  are  married.  But  you 
have  seen  him ;  you  know  what  a  good-looking 
fellow  he  is.  That  will  do  for  the  present,  and  I 
suppose  he  admires  my  little  Rose,  as  he  has  pro- 
posed for  her." 

"Perhaps  it  is  hi=?  father  who  wants  him  to 
merry  me." 

*'  Oh  !  dear,  no.  Rosette ;  a  man  of  thirty  is  not 
like  a  girl  of  seventeen." 

Rose  sighed  deeply,  and  her  father  went  on  say- 
ing :  "'I  would  not  on  any  account  have  forced 
upon  my  daughter  a  disagreeable  husband  ;  and  if 
Artemon  had  not  been  good-looking  and  young, 
rich  and  well-connected — if  he  had  not  bef  a  just  the 
sort  of  man  a  girl  would  like  to  marry,  I  should  not 
have  accepted  hioi  for  my  little  Rose;  but  thi&t  match 


120 


r 


The  Notary's  Daughter* 


is  everything  I  could  desire.  What  I  are  you  uot 
delighied,  my  love  ?  Why  don't  you  thank  your 
papaard  kiss  him,  insto-id  of  standing  there  looking 
as  doleful  as  if  you  were  not  the  luckiest  of  girls  V* 

"I  am  so  surprised,  pafn,  and.  really  hardly 
know  if  I  am.  awake  or  dreaming.  The  idea  of 
my  being  married  seems  so  sirange;  and  so  soon, 
too  I    I  had  never  thought  about  it  at  all." 

**  It  is  much  bettei"  to  be  taken  by  surprise,  I  can 
tell  you,  than  to  be  ten  years  looking  out  for  a 
husband,  as  the  Demoiselles  Arnoux  Lave  done, 
and  end  by  not  Cnding  one  and  being  an  old  maid. 
I  can  understand  your  surprise,  Rosette  ;  bub  after 
Artemon's  first  visit  von  will  be  enchanted." 

*'  Oh  !  no,  papa,  I  »m  sure  I  shall  not  like  him  "  ; 
and  in  saying  this  Rose,  wJio  hud  been  struggling 
for  some  timo  with  her  tears,  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands,  and  began  to  sob. 

* '  What  is  all  this  ncnsensc  ?  "  M.  Lesalle  sternly . 
said.     "Are  we  going  to  play  the  fool  and  turn 
our  back  on  the  best  match  in  the  neighb  rhood  ? 
Oh  !  I  see  how  it  is.     Wc  dream  at  school  of  some 
fine  fairy  prince,  and  we  mean  to  wait  for  him." 

This  sort  of  banter  R;3se  could  not  stand.  All 
e'le  had  meant  to  say  went  out  of  her  head.  She 
felt  herself  helpless  against  what  she  felt  would  be 
her  father's  invincible  will,  and  her  courage  gave 
way.  She  rushed  out  of  the  study  and  locked  her- 
self up  in  her  room,  without  listening  to  her 
father's  consoling  assurance  that  she  was  to  leave 
it  to  him,  and  that  he  know  much  better  than  her- 
self what  would  be  for  her  happiness. 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


121 


As  miglifc  well  liave  been  expected,  Rose's  tears 
did  not  ia  the  least  affect  his  plans.  He  did  not 
make  her  girlish  objections  even  a  Bubject  of 
thought;  and  as  he  went  the  next  day  to  La 
Pinede,  Toussaint  Lescalle  felt  in  a  most  agreeable 
frame  of  mind.  " 

Any  one  who  had  seen  him  walking  slowly,  with 
his  hands  behind  his  back,  enjoying  the  pleasant . 
breeze  from  the  sea  and  thg  perfume  of  the  wild 
thyme,  and  obsciTcd  the  affable  way  in  which  he 
nodded  to  the  persons  he  met,  smiled  on  the  chil- 
dren, and  called  the  dogs  by  familiar  nances,  would 
have  said,  **  There  goes  a  happy  individual."  And 
what  was  giving  such  joy  to  that  man  that  it 
seemed  to  ooze  out  of  every  pore  of  his  comforta- 
ble, plump  body,  and  to  glittor  in  his  little  sharp 
eyes  ? 

Well,  he  had  an  only  child — a  lovely,  innocent 
girl,  full  of  the  gayety  which  is  so  attractive  at  that 
age.  He  had  her  in  his  home,  under  his  roof,  near 
him  from  morning  tc  night,  like  a  bird  in  spirits, 
like  a  flower  in  beauty  and  sweetness ;  and  what 
made  him  go  very  happy  was  that  he  was  going  to 
get  rid  of  her. 

Was  he  on  tiiat  account  a  hard-hearted  man  or 
a  bad  father  ?  By  no  means.  He  was  like  an  in- 
numerable number  of  fathers.  In  many  families  a 
daughter  is  con  -idered  an  inconvenience.  If  she 
marries  at  eighteen,  it  is  a  good  thing  j  if  at  sixteen 
or  seventeen,  still  better..  To  see  her  unhappy  iu 
her  hu sound's  house  is  much  less  of  an  annoyance 
than  to  have  her  happy  at  homo  unmarried. 


CHAPTER  VIIT. 


SECOND   THOUGHTS. 

M.  DB  Vedelles  was  immediately  struck  with 
iis  visitor's  beaming  expression  of  countenance, 
and  something  in  it  which  seemed  to  provoke  an 
interrogatory  remark. 

After  requesting  him   to  be  seated,  the  count 
said,  **  You  seem  in  excellent  8r»irits  this  moruii  r 
M.  Lescalle  ?  •'         '  °* 

"Ah  I  well,  I  am  not  at  all  apt  to  be  melancholy, 
M.  lo  Comte,  and  I  have  indeed  no  reason  to  com- 
plain. Things  are  not  going  badly  with  me,  as 
times  go." 

"  Your  business  is  increasing  very  much,  I  hear." 
"It  increases  every  day,  and  I  have  clients  in 

every  corner  of  the  department." 

"  Yes  ;  your  acquaintance  must  be  very  extensive. 

I  suppose  you  know  n.ost  of  the  families  in  this 

neighborhood  ?'' 

"  A  great  many  of  them,  not  to  say  all." 

"You  saw  by  my  letter  that  I  will  agree  to  let 

the  East  Farm,  at  his  own  terms,  to  your  prolSaee 

Jean  B6nard."  '^ 

"  Indeed  1  did,  Ms  le  Comte,  and  I  am  delighted 
to  find  that  you  have  arrived  at  this  decision.    I 

122 


."B-  '.     .A  1  ^&?x 


-'  ■  1 '  "i-'i ' '  lit 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


123 


have  known  Btnard  for  twenty  years,  and  I  can 
assiire  you  that  he  is  a  good  sort  of  man,  and  a 
good  farmer  too.  He  will  do  justice  to  your  land." 
*'  I  am  always  inclined  to  take  your  advice  on 
such  matters,  because  you  have  so  much  knowledge 
of  business,  and  are  especially  conversant  with 
questions  of  land  in  this  locality,  of  which  I  am 
myself  quite  ignorant." 

"  Without  boasting,  I  may  SMy,  M*  le  Comte, 
that  few  men  have  applied  themselves  with  as  much 
attention  as  I  have  done  to  all  the  details  regarding 
the  management  of  property  in  this  part  of  the 
country." 

"But  I  suspect,  M.  Lescalle,  that  you  are  not 
only  experienced  in  matters  of  this  description, 
but  that  you  have  a  pretty  quick  eye  as  to  all  sortg 
of  affairs,  and  chat  you  could  give  me  jadiciooB 
advice  on  a  very  delicate  matter." 

"  Well,  M.  le  Comte,  I  will  not  deny  that  I  am 
often  consulted  by  my  neighbors  on  subjects  which 
reauire  considerable  tact  and  discretion." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  meant.  You  are  a  person 
to  whom  one  can  speak  quite  confidentially." 

"  I  al  ways  go  on  the  principle  that  a  notary  is  a 
sort  of  lay  confessor." 

"  I  felt  sure  that  was  the  case,  and  I  am  going 
to  speak  to  you  with  entire  confidence.  You  know 
that  I  have  two  sons  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  though  I  only  know  M.  Jacques — a  very 
charming  young  man  in  every  re-^pect." 

**  He  is  alio  remarkably  clever,  and  has  already 
distinguished  himself  at  the  bar.     They  are  trjing 


is      :       'i 


*, 


124 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


at  Marseilles  to  persuade  him  to  give  up  Paris  and 
remain  in  Provence.  He  is  thinking  of  engaging 
in  pcliticai  life,  and  I  have  no  fears  us  to  his  not 
making  his  way  in  the  world ;  but  it  is  not  the 
same  case  with  his  brother." 

**  You  are  alluding  to  M.  George  ?  " 

**Yes." 

"  He  is  still  very  young  ?  " 

"  Not  so  young  as  he  looks.  He  will  be  twenty- 
one  in  a  few  days.  He  was,  till  the  age  of  seven- 
teen, one  of  the  most  promising  boys  imaginable — 
full  of  intelligence,  and  even,  apparently,  very 
talented." 

**  Oh  !  indeed,  then  he  has  not  always  been — *' 

**  Deficient  in  mind,  you  were  going  to  say.  On 
the  contrary,  it  is  v/nly  since  a  brain  fever,  follow- 
ed by  a  typhoid  fever,  which  seized  him  during 
his  preparation  for  his  examination  at  the  Poly- 
technic School,  that  he  has  fallen  into  a  state  of 
mind  which  it  is  diflScult  to  define.  As  far  as 
health  goes,  he  is  well  and  strong  enough  now. 
George  is  oy  no  means  an  idiot.  He  has  as  much 
sense  as  many  a  one  who  gpts  on  creditably  in  a 
quiet  and  obscure  position.  If  he  had  not  once 
given  promise  of  superior  intellect,  his  present  de- 
ficiencies would  not  strike  us  so  much.  He  has  lost 
the  power,  and  even  the  desire^  of  exertion,  and 
I  see  no  prospect  of  his  being  able  to  follow  any 
profession,  or  of  his  doing  anything  for  himself. 
I  feel  obliged,  and  his  brother  quite  agrees  with 
me,  to  think  Qf  his  future  existence,  and  to  form 
gome  plan  with  regard  to  it'' 


'•«*.. 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


125 


**  And  wliat  are  yoar  ideas  on  the  subject,  M.  le 
Comte?" 

'*  Well,  really,  the  only  thing  I  can  think  of  is  to 
find  him  a  wife,  and  to  let  him  live  quietly  in  the 
country — either  with  us,  or  in  a  little  home  of  his 
own  in  this  neighborhood.  He  is  passionately 
fond  of  the  country  and  the  seaside— that  is  really 
the  only  taste  he  seems  to  have.  My  wife's  health 
is  in  a  precarious  state.  I  am  getting  old  myself, 
and  I  feel  that  it  would  be  a  great  relief  and  com- 
fort to  us  if  our  son  was  married  to  an  amiable  and 
well-principled  girl,  who  would  supply  to  him  our 
place,  and  who  could  make  herself  happy  in  a 
quiet  existence,  and  with  a  man  who  would,.  I  am 
sure,  make  her  a  very  kind  and  affectionate  hus- 
band." 

M.  Lescalle  was  listening  intently  to  the  count's 
words,  and  busy  thoughts  were  crossing  his  mind. 
"  What  has  h«  in  his  thoughts  ?  "  he  said  to  him- 
self, and  then  aloud : 

*'  I  should  think  there  would  be  no  diflBculty  in 
finding  a  young  lady  such  as  you  describe,  M.  le 
Comte." 

"  Well  t  could  you  suggest  any  one  ?  " 

"I  ought  to  know,  first,  what  would  be  your 
stipulations  with  regard  to  this  daughter-in-law." 

"  I  should  not  be  very  exacting." 

"  Must  she  be  of  noble  birth  ?  " 

"I  do  not  hold  to  it.  A  man  gives  his  own 
name  to  his  wife." 

*'And  the  title  of  baronne?"  M.  Lescalle  ob- 
served. 


■■•■  i  n 'i iiiiiliil 


126 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


"Of  course.  It  iH  quite  a  different  case  with 
aaughters.' 

**  And  as  to  fortune  ?" 

"As  to  fortune,  I  should  se'tle  oa  George  and 
his  wife  twenty.five  thousand  francs  a  year,  and  if 
the  g,rl  had  thir  y  thousand  or  forty  thousand 
francs  of  her  owu,  which  could  be  hardlv  reckoned 
a  dowry — " 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  M.  le  Comte..  In  our  part 
of  the  country  such  a  sum  is  reckoned  a  very  4od 
man.age  portion.     But  as  to  the  position  of%er 

"All  I  should  care  about  would  be  its  respccta- 

DUity— not  trades-people,  however." 
"  And  the  age  of  the  young  lady  ?  " 
"Oh  1  anywhere   between   sixteen   ana   twentv- 

five.      She  ought  to   be  good-looking-preity,  if 

Ther  "  '"  '''''^''  **''^  ^'^'^'  ""^'^^^  ^^^'  ^  ^^°^^ 

"Let  me  think,"  M.  Lescalle  said,  musing  as  if 
he  was  turning  over  in  his  mind  all  the  youn- 
ladies  m  the  neighborhood.  "  There  is  ml 
Veslaint,  but  she  is  sickly." 

"  Oh  !  that  would  never  do." 

"Mile  Laurisse  is  pretty  enough,  but  as  she  has 
ft  Hundred  thousand  francs,  I  scarcely  think—" 

"That  she  would  accept  George." 

thll^"^'  ^"^  ^^  '^  ^""""^  *^*^  ^®"  ^""^^   "^"^ 
"What  then?" 
"  She  is  humpbacked." 
"  He  would  demur  at  that.'* 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


127 


'*  What  wcttld  you  say  to  the  postmasfcer'a  daugh- 
ter?" 

**  That  would  be  too  great  a  mesalliance^ 

"M.  le  Cure  has  a  handsomish  niece,  but  she  is 
forty  at  the  least." 

*'  Almost  double  his  age  I    la  there  nobody  else  ?" 

**Well,  M.  le  Corato,  I  really  cannot  think  of 
any  one  else." 

*'  Oh  !  I  am  sure  you  will,  if  you  try.  If  I  could 
meet  with  something  really  suitable,  I  should  not 
mind  adding  to  what  I  settle  on  George  and  his 
wife  t.»?n  thousand  francs  for  the  corbeitte." 

The  notary  reflected  for  a  few  instants,  and  then 
said,  slapping  his  forehead  :  *'  A  thought  just  oc- 
curs to  me — " 

**  What  ?  "  the  count  anxiously  asked. 

*'  There  is  my  own  daughter." 

*' Mile.  Rose?" 

"  Yes." 

**I  thought  she  was  engaged  to  a  y  fung  man  of 
La  Oiotat." 

"Artenion  Richer,  you  mean  ?  Tiiero  has  been 
some  question  of  it,  but  I  must  say  I  should  prefer 
the  connectioTi  with  your  family.  There  would  be, 
however,  a  difficnly,  even  if  you  thought  my 
daughter  a  desirable  match  for  your  son." 

**  I  certainly  should  think  so.  There  would  be 
BO  obstacle  on  our  side." 

"But  then,  you  see,  M.  le  Oomie" — and  M.  Les- 
calle  hesitated,  like  a  man  who  has  something  awk- 
ward to  bring  out.  "The  fact  is  that  Rose  ha« 
not  got  any  fortune  at  all." 


128 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


"But  you  could,  if  you  wished  W,  do  sometljing 
for  us  that  would  quite  make  up  for  her  want  of 
fortune." 

"  How  so,  M.  le  CoHito  ?'* 

"By  supporting,  a^d  consequently  securing,  the 
election  of  my  son  Jacques." 

"I  thought  as  much,"  M.  Lescalle  inwardly 
ejaculated.  "  They  are  all  possessed  with  the  same 
devil." 

The  count  went  on.  "  There  are  two  candi- 
dates, I  know — i-hat  is,  if  M.  Cesuire  do  Croixfond 
is  still  in  the  field.  Wo  were  told  he  had  retired, 
but—" 

"He  now  hopes  to  purchase  l'Es:raine,  which 
would  make  him  eligible." 

"Would  not  a  t^urd  candidate,  well  supported 
by  influential  ^larties,  and  with  a  decided  talent  for 
speaking,  carry  the  election  ?  " 

"It  is  not  unlikely.  But  I  hardly  know  how 
I  could  support  M.  Jacques,  seeing  the  encourage- 
ment I  have  given — " 

"Oh  !  you  cannot  have  any  scruples  on  the  sub- 
jet  <:.  If  we  arrange  the  marriage,  Jacques'  suc- 
Lei?i  will  become,  in  your  case,  family  concern." 

"Well,  there  is  truth  in  what  ycm  say,  M.  le 
Comte,  and  I  am  quie  ready  to  further  his  inter- 
ests.    How  old  is  M.  Jacques  ?  " 

"  He  will  soon  be  thirty  ;  and  to  get  him  into 
the  Chamber  this  year  will  be  an  immense  advan- 
tage.   It  is  worth  two  years  to  him." 

"  I  quite  see  that,  and  you  can  rely  upon  me.  I 
gball  be  happy  to  use  my  inflaeooe  in  his  fawc 


1. « 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 

and  as  to  my  daughter,  I  assure  you  that  I  am  high- 
ly fluttered  at  your  wish  to  have  her  for  a  daughter- 
in-law." 

The  two  fathers  s-iook  hands,  r^r^  then  M.  Lee- 
calle^aid,  "Your  young  man  is  not  ill-tempered. 
I  hope?" 

**0h  I  dear,  no.  He  has  never  in  his  life  said 
an  unkind  word  to  any  one.  It  is  possihle  that  his 
wife  may  not  find  him  a  very  amusing  companion, 
but  he  is  sure  to  behave  well  (o  her." 

*'  Ah  !  well,  then  it  is  all  right.  I  would  not  on 
any  account  give  my  daughter  to  a  man  who  would 
make  her  unhappy," 

The  count  and  the  notary  walked  out  of  the 
house,  and  down  the  stairs  of  the  terrace,  arm  in 
arm,  like  old  friends,  to  the  great  surprise  of  Vin- 
cent, who  was  not  used  to  see  his  master  on  such 
intim&te  terms  with  persons  of  inferior  rank. 

M.  de  Vedelles  accompanied  M.  Lcscalle  to  the 
gate  or  the  chdteau.  The  last  words  that  passed 
between  them  before  they  separated  were  these— 
'*He  has  never  opposed  my  will."  The  count  was 
speaking  of  George. 

"  She  would  never  dream  of  disobeying  me,"  the 
notary  s:iit%  alluding  to  Rose. 


CHAPTER  TX. 


A  TRIFLING   OBSTACLE. 


The  day  on  which  this  imporfcant  conversation 
had -taken  place  was  a  Sunday.  At  eleven  the  no^ 
tary  had  set  out  for  L%  Pineue,  and  ^ifc  the  same 
time  his  wife  and  daughter  had  gone  to  church. 
It  was  one  of  the  finest  days  of  a  beautiful  spring. 
The  a^undant  and  unusual  quantify  of  rain  which 
had  fallen  in  the  early  part  of  the  year  had  made 
Provence  as  green  as  Normandy  and  as  fragrant  as 
Spain.  La  Ciofcat  had  never  been  in  such  beauty 
before.  Tlie  altar  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  in  the 
parish  church  was  so  surrounded  by  a  mass  of  lilacs 
and  orange  blossoms,  that  the  i)erfume  of  the 
flowers  exceeded  that  of  the  incenso. 

After  Mass  all  the  population  flocked  to  the 
Tasse,  a  charming  promenade  on  n  terrace  near  the 
sea.  A  number  of  pretty  girls  in  short  petticoats, 
and  youths  with  red  flsbermin's  caps  on  their 
heads,  were  strolling  up  and  down  in  parties  of 
seven  or  eight,  shaking  hands  and  laughing  as  thej 
stopped  to  speak  to  thtir  friends. 

Some  of  the  consequential  families  of  the  towi 
were  walking  more  sedately  iu  the  midst  of  tlu 

180 


^V>i 


TJie  Notary's  Daughter. ' 


131 


animated,  picturesque,  noisy  crowd.  Amongst  tlio 
rest  M.  le  Barou  do  Croixfoiid  and  his  family,  M. 
Arnoux  and  his  two  dangbiers  in  very  stiH  muslin 
gowns,  M.  Riehrr  de  Mou  louii  arm-in-arm  with 
Iiis  wife,  and  Madame  Loscalle  and  Rose  escorted 
by  M.  Art^mon  Richer. 

At  La  Ciotat,  as  in  all  small  towns,  the  least  lit- 
tle events  assume  a  great  magnitude.  Everything 
is  made  the  subject  of  comments  and  conjectures. 
Acts  which  in  Piris  no  one  would  take  the  least 
notice  of  are  immediately  remarked,  and  give  rise 
to  all  kinds  of  suppositions.  I",  was  accordingly  a 
matter  of  great  astonishment  t)  the  big- wigs  of  La 
Ciotat  when  Madame  and  Malemoisclle  Le^calle 
were  seen  walking  with  M.  Artcmon  Richer. 

Wo  must  describe  Artcmon.  He  was  a  tall  fel- 
low, almost  six  feet  high,  broad  in  proportion,  with 
a  thrown  and  florid  complexion  and  dars  hair. 
His  features  were  symmetrical  and  heavy,  his  coun- 
tenance impudent,  vulgar,  and  good-humored.  He 
was  always  laughing  and  showing  a  row  of  fine 
white  teeth.  His  dress  was  in  the  worst  possible 
laste.  He  wore  diamond  stud*  in  hip  chirt,  had 
large,  red,  ungjloved  hands,  and  was  the  very  typo 
of  a  Prjvenyal  swell — to  use  a  slang  word.  An 
overbearing,  noisy,  cynical,  in«<-*lent,  dashing  fel- 
low, who  carried  all  before  him  in  the  little  town 
of  \i\  Oiotat.  Rich,  handsome,  and  connected  as 
he  was  with  some  of  the  best  families  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, nobody  ventured  to  discountenance  liim. 
Laughing  at  everybody  and  everything,  v*ith  no 
deference  for  any  one,  smoking  in  the  presence  of 


II 

ii 


w 


■ 

J 

\ 

■";"*■ 

^^jnngmgui 

m 

i 

1 

132 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


the  finest  Lidies  of  Lis  acquaintance,  coarse  in  con- 
versation, and  familiar  in  his  way  of  talking  to 
women  and  gir  s,  he  was,  in  spite  of  all  this^  or 
perhaps  in  consequence  of  it,  rather  a  favorite  in 
the  society  he  frequented,  and  supposed  to  have 
broken  t.;e  heart  of  more  than  one  young  lady  who 
had  fondly  and  vainly  hoped  to  become  Madame 
Arte  m on  Riclicr. 

After  spending  some  years  in  Paria  on  the  very 
Fpecious  pretext  of  studying  for  the  bar,  he  had  re- 
turned to  La  Ciotat,  leaving  behinf''  him  debts  to 
the  amount  of  thirty  thousand  >a  .-jd,  which  his 
fa' her  had  jiaid,  stipulating,  however,  that  there 
was  to  bo  an  end  to  his  residence  in  Paris  ;  so  he 
was  obliged  to  find  amusement  in  a  small  country 
town  and  its  vicinity.  For  some  time  Father  Richer 
laughed  at  the  quarrels,  the  scrapes,  the  flirtations, 
and  the  follies  of  his  incorrigible  son,  but  at  last 
he  became  anxious  to  get  him  married.  Several 
attempts  of  ihe  kind  hnd  utterly  failed.  However, 
from  the  first  day  he  had  seen  Rose  Lescall^  Art6- 
mon  had  taken  a  great  fancy  to  her,  and  '  ^^Id- 
ness  and  reserve  only  made  him  the  more  )i  i^'e- 
ly  bent  on  marrying  the  notary's  pretty  daugh  .;, 

Father  Richer,  as  we  have  seen,  hastened  to  take 
advantiige  of  this  position  of  things,  and  what  was 
going  on  that  Sunday  on  the  promenade  seemed  a 
public  manifestation  of  the  intentions  of  both 
families.  All  tne  town  was  watching  the  parties, 
and  Madaaie  Loscalle's  attitude  amounted  to  a  first 
publica  ion  of  bans.  There  was  a  sort  »>i  official 
dignity  in  her  way  of  receiving  the  indirect  con- 


'.mww 


V 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


133 


gratulations  of  her  friends,  and  an  ironical  conde- 
scension in  her  manner  of  howing  to  the  ladies 
whose  daughters  Artemon  had  rejected. 

Rose,  who  was  Jiat  day  an  object  of  envy  to  all 
the  young  girls — Rose,  the  destined  bride  of  one 
who  had  been  sought  after  by  the  most  fashionable 
of  the  town  beauties — Rose,  the  heroine  of  the  day, 
did  not  seem  to  share  Madame  Lescalle's  triumph- 
ant s«lf-compIacency.  She  walked  up  and  down 
by  her  mother*s  side  in  a  listless  manner,  without 
answering  a  word  to  tfje  high-flown  compliments 
which  Artjmon  Richer  was  showering  upon  her. 

All  at  once  Madame  Lescalle  was  interrupted  in 
the  middle  of  a  sentence.  She  felt  her  arm  laid 
hold  of,  and,  turning  round,  saw  above  her  daugh- 
ter's shoulder  her  husband's  red  and  irate  face. 

"  Good  gracious !  M.  Lescalle,"  she  exclaimed, 
**  what  is  the  matter  ?  You  tumble  upon  ua  like  a 
waterspout  !" 

"  Madame,  you  ought  to  have  been  at  home  long 
ago,"  the  notary  answered,  in  a  gruff  voice  very 
unusual  to  him.  "Take  my  arm,  if  you  please, 
and  let  us  be  off." 

Ai  Madame  Lescalle,  quite  bewildered,  was  star- 
ing at  him  without  moving,  he  rather  rudely  {sepa- 
rated her  from  Artemon,  took  his  daughter's  arm 
und.r  hid  own,  and  was  going  awry,  when  t]»e 
yonng  man,  recovering  from  his  first  surprise,  said 
to  liim  in  a  half-jesting,  lialf-sneering  tone  : 

"  Upon  my  word,  M.  Ijescalle,  you  seem  to  have 
lost  your  eyesight  at  La  PinMe  I  Did  not  you  see 
that  these  ladies  wera  walking  with  me  ?  " 


i 


134 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


*•  I  saw  it  very  well,  M.  Artemon." 

"Then  w.  y  are  you  carrying  Uiem  off  ia  this 
snclclea  manner  ?  You  may  esteem  youi*self  for- 
tunate that  I  have  reasons  which  make  mo  unwill- 
ing to  qr  irrcl  with  you."  , 

"  Oh!  pray  do  not  have  any  scruples  on  the  sub- 
ject/' M.  Lescallo  rejoined.  "I  should  like  to 
know  what  right  you  have  to  object  to.my  taking 
my  wife  and  my  daughter  home,  if  I  do  not  ap- 
prove of  their  walking  here  ?  " 

Artemon  bit  his  lips,  as  if  to  restrain  a  torrent  of 
angry  retort  which  his  rising  anger  was  about  to 
give  vent  to.  He  said  tolerably  calmly:  **  Your 
conduct,  sir,  is  quite  inexplicable." 

M.  Richer  de  Montlouis  came  up  at  that  moment 
and  exclaimed  :  *•  Is  this  the  way  you  take,  sir,  of 
breaking  off  the  negotiation  you  so  readily  entered 
into?" 

"You  may  think  what  you  please  about  it,  sir," 
M.  LescaKc  answered,  and  then,  making  a  low  bow 
to  M.  Richer,  he  hurried  away  his  wife  and  daugh- 
ter. 

Madame  Lescillo  was  as'ounded.  During  eigh- 
teen 3 ears  of  manied  life  she  had  never  seen  her 
husband  behave  in  such  a  strange  and  unwarrant- 
able manner.  She  foresaw  a  quarrel  with  th 
Richer  family  rendered  inevitable  and  all  her  hopesi 
destroved  by  this  unacc  untablo  burst  of  temper. 
M.  Lescallc's  conduct  struck  her  as  so  extraordinary 
that  sue  felt  almost  afraid  he  had  gone  out  of  his 
mind.  The  more  she  thought  of  it  the  more  her 
surprise  and  annoyance  increased. 


The  Notary  s  Daughter,  135 

As  the  notary  and  his  companions  walked  from 
the  Tasse  to  the  Rue  Droifcc,  where  they  lived,  not 
a  word  was  said.  When  they  arrived  at  their  house 
M.  Lescalle,  red,  brea  hiess,  and  agitated,  stood  op- 
posite the  couch  on  which  his  wife  and  Rose  had 
seated  themselves.  The  mother  and  daughter 
were  awaiting  his  first  words  with  equal  though  a 
different  kind  of  anxiety.  Put  he  remained  sHenfc 
for  a  fow  instants,  as  if  hardly  knowing  how  to 
preface  what  he  had  to  say. 

Her  husband's  evident  embarrassment  inspired 
Madame  Lescalle  with  courage,  and  in  her  most 
acrimonious  voice  she  began  the  attack. 

**  Sir,  are  you  going  at  last  to  explain  the  reason 
of  your  extraordinary  behavior  ?  Will  you.  if  you 
please,  tell  us  vhy  you  have  insulted  the  only  fa- 
mily in  this  place  which  offered  a  suitable  marriaeo 
for  R080  ?  "  *' 

"Rose  will  have  a  husband,"  M.  Lescalle  rcolied 
in  a  dignified  manner,  "worth  all  the  Richers  in 
the  world.  M.  le  Comto  do  Vedelles  has  just  ask- 
ed her  in  mariiagc  for  his  son." 

"ForM.  Jacques?"  the  young  girl  exclaimed, 
blushing  crimson. 

"No  ;  for  M.  George,  which  io  just  as  good.  lU 
IS  quite  as  rich  as  his  brother.  His  father  settles 
upon  him  twcnty.five  thousand  francs  a  year." 

A  dead  silence  ensued.  Then  Madame  Lescalle, 
divided  between  the  prospect  of  so  magnificent  a 
connection  and  a  feeling  of  mafernal  anxiety,  said  : 

**  What  I  the  youngest  brother— the /rtc/^f  " 

''FacU  yourself!"  exclaimed    ihn   exasperated 


ilt 


•  i 


136 


Tlie  Notary* s  Daughter. 


notary.  "  IIow  can  you  talk  sncli  ridicnlons  non- 
sense, Virginie  ?  George  de  Vedellcs  is  a  yery 
pleasing  young  man.  Koso  will  be  very  happy  with 
him." 

"When  Rose  had  heard  the  name  of  George  she 
had  turned  as  white  as  her  cambric  collar,  and 
leant  back,  unable  to  utter  a  word. 

The  idea  of  an  objec  ion  to  this  marriage  had 
not  entered  into  M.  Lcscalle's  mind.  To  do  him 
justice,  he  had  always  considered  the  reports  as  to 
George  do  Vedclles'  incapacity  of  mind  as  greatly 
exaggerated.  lie  believed  Lim  to  be  a  young  man 
of  no  abilities  and  somewhat  below  par  in  intellect, 
but  by  no  means  half-witted.  In  spite  of  all  his 
world  hness,  he  would  not  have  married  his  daugh- 
ter to  an  idiot.  He  was  not  aware  of  the  degree  to 
^\hich  the  reports  (f  his  mental  deficiency  had  been 
spread  in  the  neighborhood,  and  how  deeply  they 
had  prejudiced  Rose  against  George  de  Vedc^es. 
Seeing  his  daughter  so  deeply  affected,  iio  wen .  up 
to  her,  and,  patting  her  cheek,  said : 

"  Well,  after  all  you  were  quite  righi;,  Rcsette, 
to  turn  up  your  nose  at  M.  Richer's  son.  I  hope 
you  are  satisfied  now.  Who  would  ever  have  ex- 
pected my  li.tle  girl  to  be  Madame  la  Baronne  ?" 

Rose  sat  cold  and  motionless  as  a  statue.  She 
felt  as  if  a  terrible  nightmare  was  oppressing  her. 
At  last,  bursting  into  tears,  she  threw  herse'f  into 
her  father's  arms,  sobbing  violently,  and  in  broken 
accents  said  : 

"0  my  elear  father  I  you  cannot  mean  that  you 
have  really  accepted  this  horrid  proposal.     I  am 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


137 


sure  you  caiiuot  want  me  to  marry  that  balf-witted 
youth.  What  a  div  adful  thing  it  would  b3  ta  bo 
the  wife  of  such  a  man  !  You  woul  i  not  make  me 
miserable  !  You  did  not  know  that  1  should  hate 
the  thoughts  of  it.  Oh  !  I  am  sure  that  it  cannot 
be,  that  nothing  ii  settled  about  it.  You  will 
change  your  mind  and  tell  them  go,  for  you  are  a 
dear,  good  father,  and  yon  love  your  little  Rose. 
0  dear,  dear  papa  I  for  God's  sake  speak,  and  tcU 
me  that  you  will  withdraw  your  promise,  if  you 
have  made  one.  You  won't  speak  I  Oh  1  I  am 
quite  broken-hearted,  quite  miserable." 

M.  Lescalle,  very  much  distressed  by  his  dauga- 
ter's  tears  and  vehemence,  held  her  in  his  arms, 
and,  instead  of  ppeaking,  kissed  her  hair  and  tried 
to  soothe  her  by  his  caresses,  as  if  she  had  been  a 
baby. 

"  Come,  come,  my  child,*'  be  said  at  last,  **  don't 
crv  now  ;  be  a  sensible  girl  Yes,  I  love  my  little 
K vsy,  and  I  want  her  to  bo  happy.  Now,  please 
don't  cry  so,  my  darling.  You  are  quite  mistaken 
about  M.  George.  He  is  not  at  all  ti  e  sort  of  per- 
Bon  you  think." 

Madame  Lescalle,  affected  at  the  sight  of  her 
daughter's  grief,  pulled  her  husband  by  the  arm 
and  said :  "  Would  it  not  bo  better,  Tous&aint,  to 
let  her  marry  Artemon  Richer  and  bo  happy  ?" 

"Oh  1  but,  mamma,"  cried  R^se,  lifting  up  her 
face  streaming  Avith  tears,  ''I  should  not  be  hap- 
py with  M.  Art6mon.  I  don't  want  to  be  married 
at  all.  1  would  rather  live  always  at  homo  with 
papa  and  you.*' 


Jm. 


\  ■!,:%  n 


138 


The  Notary s  Daug/tter. 


These  words  gave  an  immediate  advantage  to  M. 
Lescallc,  who  said  :  *  Nonsense,  nonsense ;  that  is 
i^hat  romantic  girls  always  say  when  tl.eir  parents 
want  them  to  make  a  sensible  marriage.  You  see, 
Virginie,  we  must  insist  upon  being  obeyed.  She 
does  not  v/ant  to  marry  either  of  these  suitors. 
Yesterday  she  came  crying  to  my  room  and  wanted 
me  to  refuse  Artemon." 

"If  I  am  absolutely  obliged  to  marry  one  or  the 
other  of  those  gentlemen,  I  had  rather  of  the  two 
be  M.  Artemon's  wife  than  marry  M.  de  V^delles." 

"It  is  too  la(e  for  that,  my  dear.  If  you  had 
not  shown  so  great  a  dislike  to  M.  Eicher,  I  should 
have  hesitated  at  the  Comte  de  Vedelles'  proposal. 
I  would  have  facrlficed  great  advantages  sooner  than 
thwart  your  inclinations ;  but  as  you  have  no  pre- 
ference for  any  one,  it  is  my  duty  to  choose  for  you 
a  husband.  Artemon  was  a  good  match,  and  yon 
would  not  have  him.  What  I  have  now  arranged 
for  you  ii  still  more  desirable,  and  I  cannot  listen 
to  any  more  nonsense  on  the  subject." 

"But  why  is  it  so  necessary  I  should  be  mar- 
ried ?"  Rose  objected. 

"For  the  matter  of  that,  my  dear,"  Madame 
Lescalle  said,  "if  you  did  not  marry  M.  de  V6- 
delles,  nobody  would  ever  propose  to  you  again 
after  what  took  place  on  the  promenade." 

"  I  should  not  care." 

**  Oh  I  that  is  all  very  well  ;  but  some  years  hence 
yoa  would  not  be  of  the  same  mind." 

"Having  publicly  broken  off,  as  we  have  done, 
the  affair  with  tlie  Richers,  it  is  absolutelv  neoes- 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


139 


sory  that  you  should  make  a  briDiant  marringe,'* 
M.  Lcscalle  gaid. 

**  You  i-eally  behaved  very  ill  to  that  poor  Art^- 
miTi,"  Madame  Lcscalle  observed. 

"What  else  could  I  do  ?  1  was  seeking  some 
cause  t')  break  off  with  the  Eichers,  and  had  been 
turning  over  in  my  mind  fifty  different  plans  on 
my  way  buck  from  th3  chateau,  and  when  I  arrived 
and  saw  you  walking  in  that  public  manner  with 
Artemon,  which  almost  amounted  to  an  announce- 
ment of  the  marriage,  I  was  so  taken  by  surprise, 
and  so  dreadfully  annoved,  that  I  lost  my  head. 
But  I  am  not,  on  tlie  whole,  sorry  for  it.  After 
such  a  scene  as  that  the  Richers  cannot  expect  me 
to  supjwrt  them  at  the  next  election." 

"What !  are  you  going  to  ^'ail  them  about  that 
also  ?  What  has  made  you  t  c  such  a  dielike  tc 
them  ? '' 

"  How  stupid  you  are  !  Don*c  you  understand 
why  I  cacDofc  support  them  now  ?'' 

"  No,  I  don't." 

"Why,  Jacques  de  Vedellcs  is  going  to  stand.  I 
must,  of  course,  favor  the  interests  of  Rose's  bro- 
ther-in-law." 

Rose  was  hiding  her  face  against  one  of  the 
cushions  of  the  sofa  and  weeping  bitterly. 

M.  Lescalle  loved  his  daughter,  but  yet  the  sight 
of  her  grief  did  not  affect  him  in  the  least.  It  was 
not  a  thing  that  could  enter  into  his.  head  that  a 
woman  was  to  be  pitied  who  married  in  a  way 
which  secured  to  her  a  good  fortune  and  a  higher 
position  than  she  could  have  had  a  right  to  expect. 


II 


140 


T/itf  Notary s  Dmighter, 


He  had  always  seen  how  happy  young  girls  looked 
when  they  were  engaged  to  ric!i  husbands,  and  so 
be  made  up  his  mind  to  let  the  storm  of  Bose'? 
tears  blow  over,  as  he  would  have  done  a  showei  of 
rain. 

As  he  left  the  drawing-room  he  whispered  to 
his  wife,  "  She  would  have  cried  just  as  much  if  we 
had  married  her  to  Art^mon,  Soothe  her  and 
reason  with  her — I  leave  that  to  you." 

The  mother  and  daughter,  left  alone  together, 
remained  silent  for  some  time,  Kose  engrossed  by 
her  sorrow,  and  Madame  Lescalle  considering  what 
line  she  could  take.  Her  maternal  and  womanly 
feelings  made  her  understand  better  than  her  hus- 
band Rose's  grief.  But  there  was  one  idea  which 
towered  above  all  other  considerations — ^now  that 
Eose  could  no  longer  marry  Artdmon,  if  she  refused 
George  de  Vedelks  there  was  danger  of  her  not 
marrying  at  all.  This  result,  a  most  galling  one 
to  her  pride,  was  not  at  all  improbable.  Some 
girls  of  good  family,  and  pretty  too,  had  remained 
old  maids  at  La  Oiotat  because  bo  eligible  matches 
could  be  found  for  them,  and  she  would  have  ac- 
cepted anything  rather  than  such  a  destiny  for 
Eose.  And  then  M.  Lescalle  was  bent  upon  this 
marriage,  and  his  wife  was  rather  afrrid  of  enteiing 
upon  a  course  of  positive  rtsistance  to  his  will. 
Like  many  women  of  the  middling  class,  Madame 
Lescalle  was  in  some  re.-<pects  a  tyrant,  and  in 
others  a  slave.  She  governed  despotically  her 
household,  and  did  not  endure  the  slightest  inter^ 
ference  with  her  authority  in  domestic  affairs ;  but 


m 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


141 


in  important  questions — ^business  matters,  as  M. 
Lescalle  called  them — she  was  very  submissive  to 
lier  husband.  She,  who  would  have  fought  him 
to  the  death  rather  than  change,  at  his  bidding, 
her  laundry  arrangements,  and  resisted  openly  v  nj 
attempt  on  his  part  to  interfere  with  the  dismissal 
or  the  engagement  <:i  a  kitclien-maid,  trembled  at 
the  idea  of  opposing  him  witii  regard  to  her  daugh- 
ter's marriage*  Such  being  the  case,  the  more  she 
reflected  the  mere  iiicumbcut  she  felt  it  to  submiL 

Rose,  who  could  not  divine  what  was  passing  iu 
her  mother's  mind,  threw  her  arms  around  her 
neck  and  implored  her  to  prevent  this  new  mar- 
riage. She  spoke  with  that  vehement  emotion 
which  a  (Irst  grief  produces  in  a  young  heart. 
Timid  as  fihe  was,  and  unaccustomed  to  express 
her  feelings,  the  poor  child  used  strong  and  elo- 
quent words.  She  described  the  irretrievable  misery 
of  her  future  life,  the  hoj)ele6s  sadness  of  her  young 
years.  Throwing  herself  on  her  mothei'^s  breast, 
she  said  : 

"  0  mamma,  mamma  !  do  take  care.  Is  it  not 
a  sin  to  marry  a  person  for  whom  one  feels  a  deep 
aversion  ?  It  is  so  dreadful  to  think  that  one  will 
never  love  one's  husband.  How  can  I  ever  care 
for  this  M.  George  ?  If  I  remain  unmarried,  at 
any  rate  I  can  look  forward  without  dread  and  sor- 
row to  the  future  1'* 

Madame  Lescalle   felt  moved    by  these  words. 
For  a  moaicnt  the  idea  crossed  her  mind   t.hat  it 
was  wrong  to  d  ?om  her  child  to  a  fate  she  so  much* 
dreaded.     She  thought  aUo  of  the  possible  dangers 


"1 


42 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


and  temptations  which  might  be  the  resalt  of  forc- 
ing her  into  this  marriage,  and  for  an  instant  her 
heart  sank  within  her.  But  this  was  only  a  tran- 
sient feeling.  The  habitual  snbmission  of  the  wife 
trinmphed  over  the  mother's  anxiety,  and  he*  own 
worldly  nature  soon  resomed  the  upper  hand. 

She  kissed  her  danghter,  and,  with  those  fond 
and  carefisiig  endearments  with  which  people  are 
apt  to  soothe  a  gri«  f  they  cannot  allay,  she  tried  to 
comfort  her  in  her  own  way,  and  to  set  before  her 
what  she  considered  herself  the  great  advantages  of 
the  dreaded  marriage. 

"  Come,  now,  my  darling  child,  you  must  not 
make  the  worst  of  it.  This  marriage  whicli  you 
dislike  so  much  has,  after  all,  so  •  very  good  sides. 
^rhe  De  Vedelles  are  a  noble  an(  ^hly  respectable 
family.  The  countess  is  very  good  and  kind,  aod 
my  little  girl  will  enjoy  many  advantages  which 
are  not  to  be  despis-ed,  I  can  tell  you.  With  twen- 
ty-five thousand  francs  a  year  yon  will  be  able  to 
have  four  servants  at  least  and  to  keep  your  own 
carriage.  You  will  be  really  one  of  the  first  ladies 
in  this  neighborhood.  Dear  me  !  I  should  not 
wonder  if  you  gave  a  dinner  some  day  to  M.  le 
Pr^fet  when  he  makes  his  annual  visit  to  La  Cio- 
tat.  And  when  you  go  to  Toulon  and  Marseilles 
you  are  sure  to  be  invited  to  the  Prefecture  balls. 
And  as  to  your  dresses,  why  you  will  be  able  to  get 
them  from  Paris.  M.  Gaorgo  will  leave  you,  I  am 
sure,  the  management  of  ^everything.  He  is  very 
good  and  gentle,  your  father  says,  and  will  not 
thwart  or  bother  you  about  your  expenses.    You 


m 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


143 


will  be  migtress  in  yonr  own  house  ;  and  I  can  a&siire 
you,  Kosy,  that  this  in  itself  is  worth  thinking  of. 
Yon  have  no  idea  what  we  women  have  often  to  go 
through  with  a  husband." 

Madame  Le.'caUe  went  on  in  this  strain,  dwelling 
at  length  on  that  last  consideration,  which  had 
a  somewhat  practical  reference  to  her  own  expe- 
rience. 

All  her  descriptions  of  dresses,  of  part  es,  and  of 
luxuries  of  life  fell  flatly  on  her  daughter's  ears. 
She  made  no  answer,  for  she  felt  at  that  moment 
that  there  was  nothing  in  common  between  her 
mother's  ideas  and  her  own. 

Hose  V  J  not  romantic  or  sentimental,  but  she 
Lad,  liku  other  girls,  c  erished  the  hope  of  a  happy 
marriage,  and  of  being  lored  by  a  husband  whom 
she  could  love  in  return,  and  it  was  with  bitter 
regret  that  she  saw  herself  doomed  to  give  it  u;). 
Artemon  Bicher's  familiar  and  vulgar  manners 
were  disagreeable  to  her,  but  not  near  so  much  as 
the  prospect  of  marrying  that  strange,  uncouth 
being,  George  de  Vedellcs.  It  never  crossed  her 
mind,  however,  that  she  could  refuse  to  obey  her 
parents.  She  had  been  brought  up  in  the  idea 
that  daughters  are  bound  to  submit  implicitly  t6 
paternal  authority  in  that  as  in  all  the  other  re« 
spccts. 

In  some  of  the  old-fashioned  provinces  of  France 
this  is  still  the  common  belief.  Is  this  a  good  or  a 
bad  principle  ?  There  is  much  to  bo  said,  perhaps, 
on  both  sides  of  the  question.  Even  the  strongest 
advocates  of  parental  authority  will  admit  that  there 


.„       J  A?  I"! 


144 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


are  cases  wbicb  warraat  a  departure  from  t'ne  gena- 
ral  rule  of  duty.  It  i?,  again,  a  question  whether 
parental  uuthority  may  be  justifiably  exercise!,  in 
any  degree,  on  this  subject.  Different  nations, 
different  families,  different  individuals,  will  pro- 
nownce  on  this  point  opposite  opinions.  We  shall 
not  attempt  to  discuss  the  matter  ;  but  in  France, 
forty  years  ago,  end  e?pecially  in  the  provinces, 
there  could  scarcely  have  been  found  an  instance 
of  dissent  from  the  axiom  that  a  well-principled 
girl  was  bound  to  accept  the  husband  chosen  by 
her  parents.  This  Rose  had  never  duubted ;  and 
after  this  short  struggle  against  her  fate,  she  re- 
signed herself  to  what  she  fylt  to  be  inevitable. 


mm^mx. 


CHAPTER  X. 

ANOTHER  TRIFLING   OBSTACLE. 

Whilst  the  scenes  deFcribtd  in  tho  last  chapter 
were  taking  place  at  the  Maison  Lcscalle,  some- 
thing not  very  di.similar  was  going  on  in  the  salon 
of  the  Chdteau  de  la  Pinede.  After  his  interview 
with  the  notary  M.  do  Vodelles  said  to  his  wife  : 
"  Well,  my  dear  Clare,  you  will  be  glad  to  hear  that 
Jacqu'  8  will,  in  all  probability,  be  a  deputy  in  the 
nest  Chamber." 

"No,  really  ?-~for  this  department  ?*' 

"Yes." 

"  What  miracle  has  brought  this  about  ?" 

"A  very  simple  miracle;  I  will  explain  it  in  a 
moment.  But  will  it  not  be  delightful  to  see 
Jacques  at  last  launched  in  public  life  and  taking 
part  in  the  aiiairs  of  his  country  ?  What  an  effect 
he  will  make  at  the  Tribune,  with  his  gift  of  speak- 
ing and  his  good  looks  !  Peoolo  may  Ray  what 
they  like,  but  a  handsome  face  and  figure  are  no 
small  advantages  for  an  orator." 

"  You  think  only  of  Jacquo3,  and  we  really  ought 
iot'ike  into  consideration  George's  future.  It  is  a 
strange  life  he  leads  here.  Your  plan  of  leaving 
him  to  himself,  the  little  notice  yon  ever  take  el 
him  now,  will,  I  am  sure,  have  bad  results." 

145 


146 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


"  You  tlo  not,  I  sappose,  wish  me  to  make  him 
a  depufy,"  ibe  count  answered  in  a  dry,  surcaslic 
tone. 

"No,  of  course,  I  do  not  mean  that ;  but  lie  is 
getting  worse  again,  I  am  afraid,  iu  Lealth,  and  I 
do  not  know  what  to  do,  for  it  annoys  him  if  I  say 
anything  about  it." 

*'  Leave  him  alone,  -my  dear ;  I  liave  a  plan 
which  I  will  tell  you  later.  It  is  time  now  to  go 
to  dinner," 

They  went  into  the  dining-room,  where  tueir 
two  sons  wtTO  wailing  for  them  ;  ihe  countess 
whispered  to  her  husband  :  "  IIow  dreadfully  pale 
George  looks." 

"Oh  I  it  is  nothing  to  signify ;  the  boy  only 
wants  cheering  up." 

Madame  de  Vcdolles  looked  surprised,  but  said 
nothing  more.  They  all  tat  down  to  dinner,  and 
the  count  seemed  in  hetterspiri;s  than  he  had  been 
for  a  long  time.  ''  What  has  become  of  the  chaim- 
ing  Denise  ?"  he  said  ;  *•'  it  is  a  long  time  since  we 
have  seen  her." 

"  Three  weeks,"  Jacques  said.  George  reddened 
to  the  roots  of  his  liair,  and  his  father  glanced  at 
Jacques  as  much  as  to  say,  "  I  see  you  are  rif^hfe 
in  yoor  suspicions"}  and  then  he  said,  "It  was 
very  pkasant  Laving  her  here  ;  I  was  glad  to  see, 
George,  that  yon  are  not  quito  as  unsociable  as 
mig'it  be  supposed.  You  seemed  to  enjoy  MIK 
Denise's  society.  Well,  it  is  very  natural;  }oung 
people  like  to  meet  young  pGo,>le.  But  I  wonder 
why  you  rua  a«vay  when  visitora  call.     Each  time 


The  Notary s  Daughter,  147 

that  Madame  Lescalle  end  her  daughter  have  been 
here,  off  you  go  like  a  thot.  I  wonder  at  it,  for 
Mile.  Rose  is  a  remarkably  pretty  girl." 

"Yes,  I  never  ga.v  sijch  a  lovrly  complexion," 
Jacques  added.  «  She  is  quite  a  picture  of  youth, 
wita  her  fair  hair,  and  charaiing  little  figure,  her 
soft,  large  blue  eyes,  her  small  hands  and  feet. 
Amongst  all  those  dark,  sallow  Provenjales  Mile. 
Lescalle  really  looks  like  a  fresh,  blooming  rose." 

*'  Well  done,  Jacques,"  the  count  said,  laughing. 
"You  have  drawn  a  very  pretty  and  exact  picture 
of  the  young  ludy.  And  you,  George,  what  do  mu 
think  of  Mile.  Rose?" 

George  seemed  surprised  at  being  asked  his 
opinion,  and  answered:  '*I  don't  know;  I  have 
never  looked  at  her." 

"  Well,  the  next  time  she  comes  look  at  her." 

George  seemed  quite  astonished.  "Yes,"  the 
count  adr  d,  "  I  should  like  to  know  your  opinion 
of  her." 

"  I  have  no  opinion  abou  t  girls  of  that  age,"  George 
replied  in  an  ungracious  manner.  *'\  don't  care 
to  make  acquaintance  with  thcm-^Lcj  don't  care 
to  talk  to  mo,  and  what  does  it  signify  to  me  whe- 
ther Rose  Lescalle  is  pretty  or  not  ?" 

The  count  and  Jacques  again  glanced  at  each 
other.  The  countess  was  puzzled  and  did  not  un- 
derstand what  they  were  at.  She  was  singl'rly 
matter  of  fact  and  had  very  liitle  penetration.  S!io 
did  not  perceive  Goorge's  emotion,  and  only  sa\\r 
that  there  was  something  going  on  whicii  she  could 
not  make  out,  and  determined  af  .er  dinner  to  ask 


m 


T4S 


T/te  Notary s  Daughter, 


licr  hnsbaiid  what  it  all  meant.  In  the  course  of  the 
evening,  whjn  they  were  alone,  he  gave  her  ample 
explanations,  anu  informed  her  of  his  plans  for 
both  their  sons. 

'^Jacques  a  deputy,"  he  said,  "and  George  mar- 
ried, will  be  a  happy  solu  ion  of  the  anxieties  we 
have  felt  about  both  our  children.  One  of  our 
sons  will  plunge  into  the  aciive  and  brilliant  life 
that  suits  liis  talents,  and  the  other  will  find  a  hap- 
py destiny  in  an  obscure  domestic  existence  in  which 
his  want  of  capacity  will  pass  unobserved." 

Madame  de  Vedelles  listened  with  deep  atten- 
tion to  her  husband,  and  seemed  struck  by  his 
sagacity  and  the  wisdom  of  his  plans.  "I  entirely 
approve  of  your  intentions,  my  dear  husband,"  she 
said  ;  *'  Only  I  hope  if  poor  George  objected  to  what 
you  wisely  think  would  be  for  his  happiness,  that 
you  will  not  make  u,:e  of  your  authority  to  con- 
strain his  will." 

"  I  have  neither  the  intention  nor  the  power  of 
obliging  him  to  follow  my  wishes,  my  dear  Claire. 
My  authoiiiy  can  only  consist  in  the  sort  of  infin- 
enoe  a  parent  hffs  a  right  to  exercise,  and  that  in- 
fluence I  must  use.  George  cannot  judge  for  him- 
self aa  to  what  is  best  for  his  happiness.  He  re- 
quires to  be  directed,  and  it  v,  ould  be  no  kindness 
to  leave  him  to  his  own  foolish  devices." 

The  countess  admitted  that  this  was  true,  and 
on  the  following  day  George  was  summoned  to  his 
father's  stud3\  The  count  fixed  his  clear,  sharp 
eyes  upon  him,  and  in  an  impressive  manner  said  : 

**  My  dear  sou,  your  mother  and  I  have  come  to 


The  Notary's  Daughter^  149 

an  ifl-portant  decision,  and  though  I  cannot  doubt 
that  30U  would  be  ready  to  accede  to  anything 
which  ue  thought  would  be  for  yoar  happiness,  I 
wish  to  explain  to  you  the  reasons  which  have  led 
us  to  this  determination." 

"  What  determination,  father  ?"  the  young  man 
asked  in  a  gentle  and  indifferent  manner. 

"We  are  convinced  that  it  is  desirable  for  you  ta 
marry." 

"Indeed  !  And  whom  do  you  want  mo  to  mar- 
ry?"  George  asked  in  a  voice  trembling  with 
anxiety. 

"  Sit  down  there  and  listen  to  me  ;  you  will  an- 
swer me  afterwards." 

George  bowed  in  assent;  and,  leaning  against  the 
corner  of  the  bureau  where  his  father  was  sitting, 
rested  his  head  on  his  hand  and  remained  motion- 
less.   The  count  then  began  to  relate  the  reasons 
which  had  made  him  form  the  plan  he  had  in  view, 
hia  conviction  that  a  quiet  and  retired  life  of  do- 
mestic  happiness  would  suit  George  far  belter  than 
pny  other;  the  excellent  character  he  had  heard  of 
the  young  girl  whom  he  wished  him  to  marry,  and 
her  many  attractions ;  the  probability  that,  t^here- 
as  girls  of  rank  equal  to  his  own  might  object  to 
bury  themselves  in  the  country,  wliich  was  evident- 
ly what  his  own  inclinations  pointed  to,  Rose  Les- 
calle^  wouhi  be  so  gratified  at  an  alliance  far  beyond 
what  she  could  have  hoped  for  as  to  rank  and  for- 
tune that  she  would   fall  in  readily  with  all  his 
wisnes.     And  then  he  touched  on  the  subject  of 
Jacques' election.    A  vague,  halfunconsciuus  smile 


( 


( 


^^i 


•■      .  .! 


•€ 


150 


The  Notary  J  Daughter, 


hovered  on  the  lips  of  bis  son  as  he  did  so,  and 
thon  the  count  added  : 

**  These  family  considerations  would  not,  of 
course,  have  influenced  me  if  this  project  had  not 
helped  at  once  to  promote  your  brother's  important 
interests  and  to  secure  your  happiness.** 

"Father,  my  happiness — "George  began  in  an 
eager  tone.    M.  de  Vedelles  stopped  him. 

"  You  had  pi-omised  not  to  interrupt  me ;  I  have 
not  finished  what  I  had  to  say  to  you.  I  know  what 
is  in  your  mind,  my  dear  boy  ;  your  mother,  your 
brother,  and  myself  have  all  guessed  what  are  your 
feelings." 

"  Do  you  mean — "  George  said  and  hesitated. 

"  Yes,  I  know  that  you  are  cherishing  a  foolish 
dream,  a  senseless  hope  which  can  never  be  realized. 
Mile,  de  la  Pinede  has  refused  an  offer  of  marriage 
from  your  brother,  whoso  position  in  the  world  and 
whose  abilities  are  well  known  ;  that  you  are  much 
tco  young  for  her  is  in  ite.lf  an  obstacle,  and  even 
if  you  ceased  to  be  so  hopelessly  indolent  and  fjave 
up  your  strange  ways  of  going  on,  there  would  not 
be  the  least  chance  of  her  acce;  iing  you.  Jacques' 
fortune  and  position  did  not  satisfy  Mile.  Denise's 
ambition,  so  you  can  imagine  how  utterly  impossi- 
ble it  is  that  she  should  think  of  you.  It  would  be 
an  absurd  f*  lly  to  persist  in  such  an  illusion.  You 
will  find  in  Rose  Leecalle  a  good  wife  and  clnwrning 
companion,  and  once  married,  or  even  engaged  to 
her,  you  will  see  how  that  other  fancy  will  vanish 
like  a  dream." 

There  was  no  danger  now  of  George's  iuteirupt- 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


mg  his  fafclier.  Sinco  the  count  had  mentioned 
Denise  his  agitation  had  become  so  great  that  he 
seemed  unable  to  utttr  a  word.  He  grew  pale  and 
red,  and  then  pale  again,  and  when  his  father  left 
off  speaking  walked  silfntly  towards  the  door. 

"Well,  George?''  M.  de  Vedelles  said  in  his 
sharp,  decisive  manner.  **  Kow  let  me  have  your 
answer." 

George  stopped,  seemed  to  collect  his  thoughts, 
and  then  murmured  something  his  father  could  not 
oalch. 

"  What  is  it  you  are  saying  ?"  he  asked  in  an  im- 
patient tone.    "  Can't  you  speak  ?  " 

George  turned  back,  and  laying  a  cold  and  heavy 
hand  on  his  father's  arm,  said,  "  To-mon'ow,  fa- 
ther, I  will  speak  to  you." 

"  And  why  not  at  once,  my  boy  ?  "  . 

"  Ko,  to-morrow,"  George  replied  again,  and  left 
the  room. 

"Poor  fellow!''  thought  the  count,  "he  acfcu- 
ally  requires  a  whole  day  to  find  something  to  say 
on  the  subject.  Well,  I  must  let  him  have  his 
way." 

No  one  at  the  chdteau  knew  how  George  spent 
that  day.  In  the  evcniug,  as  he  had  not  appeared 
at  dinner,  old  Vincent,  uneasy  at  his  absence,  wrnt 
and  knocked  at  his  door,  but  without  result.  No 
answer  came,  and  after  two  or  three  renewed  a'.- 
tempts  he  came  down  looking  very  dejected. 

"  M.  George,"  he  eaid,  "is  shut  up  in  his  room, 
and  I  cannot  get  hiro  to  unlock  the  door." 

**N:Ver  mind,  Vinjent,'  the  count  said;    "M. 


t  '*_!iLf2LLL  .      ?='' 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


George  wishes,  I  know,  to  spend  the  day  alone;  yoa 
hjid  better  not  disturb  him.'' 

On  the  following  morning  very  early  some  little 
shepherd  b.»ys  who  were  carrying  c  ceses  to  Beaus- 
set  suddenly  mot  George  near  Cereste,  at  about 
two  leagues  from  Lj,  Pinede-  He  was  coming  back 
by  the  cross-road  which  led  to  Toulon.  11^  looked 
pale  and  harassed  and  was  walking  fast,  but  like  a 
person  dreaming  and  half  unconscious.  The  chil- 
dren felt  as  frightened  as  if  they  had  seen  a  ghost. 
In  the  patois  of  the  country  they  whispered  a  few 
words  to  each  other. 

"I  say,  Jean  Baptiste,  did  you  see  that  man  ?" 
the  youngest  asked. 

*•  He  is  not  a  man,"  the  other  gravely  answer- 
ed." 

**I  thought  it  was  the  young  gentleman  at  La 
Pinede." 

"Yes,  but  ho  is  a  fada^  and  those  sort  of  people 
are  bewitched.  On  Saturday  nights  they  hold  their 
meetings  on  the  hills  or  sometimes  on  t'  e  seashore. 
Polks  like  that,  look  you,  seem  very  quiet,  and  keep 
out  of  the  way  of  everybody  to  hide  their  wicked- 
ness, which  is  dreadful." 

"Are  you  suro  of  it  ?"  the  little  one  said,  glanc- 
ing back  in  affright;  **  and  is  the  young  gentleman 
reallv  one  of  them  ?" 

*Ther6son  has  told  me  so,  and  she  must  know, 
for  she  says  she  has  very  often  met  him." 

"  I  dare  say  she  is  right,  for  wbere  could  he  be 
coming  from  just  now,  and  he  walked  as  fast  as  if 
the  devil  was  after  him." 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


153 


**  Oh  I  he  must  have  been  at  the  Gorges  d'OUi- 
ouillcs,  up  there  in  the  caverns  where  the  witches 
dance  at  night." 

*  Don't  let  U8  go  that  way,  Jean  Baptiste  ;  it  is 
not  quite  light  yet." 

**  What  a  goose  you  are  i  Of  course  we  are  not 
going  that  way;  it  would  be  out  of  our  road,"  the 
other  answered  in  a  consequential  toiie. 

George  had  passed  the  two  children  without  no- 
ticing them.  It  was  about  six  in  the  morning  when 
he  came  home.  Everybody  wtiiS  asleep,  and  he  went 
into  his  room  without  any  one  seeing  him.  He 
did  not  appear  at  breakfast,  and  his  father,  anx- 
ious not  to  hurry  him,  took  no  notice  of  his  ab- 
Lence.  In  the  meantime  he,  his  wife,  and  his  eld- 
est son  discussed  the  subject  on  which  their  minds 
were  running.  Jacques  had  set  his  heart  upon  the 
scheme.  His  vanity  had  been  wounded  by  Donise*s 
refusal,  and  he  was  longing  to  be  a  deputy,  and  to 
ex  libit  his  talents  as  .in  orator,  to  rise  in  public 
life,  and  give  the  young  lady  reason  to  regret  that 
she  had  declined  liis  offer.  Dazzled  by  this  pros- 
pect, and  biassed  by  his  wishes,  he  persuaded 
himself  that  George's  marriage  with  the  notary's 
daughter  was  really  the  best  thing  that  could  hap- 
pen to  his  brother. 

As  to  Madame  de  Vedelles,  she  felt  some  scruples 
at  the  idea  of  her  husband  exerting  his  paternal 
authority  to  force  this  marriage  on  George,  whether 
he  felt  inclined  to  it  or  not,  and  the  more  so  that 
she  fancied  him  too  timid  and  too  helpless  to  fight 
his  own  battles.    It  seemed  to  her  that  this  would 


it: 


4 
\ 


:  m% 


!i 


Rl  i    i 


1%    ^ 
lis. 


154 


T/w  Notary's  Daughter. 


\ 


bo  an  abuse  of  parental  power  which  her  conscience 
could  not  sanction.  The  more  she  thought  of  it 
the  more  nervously  anxious  she  became.  Her  mo- 
ther's heart  protesied  against  the  sort  of  moral 
coercion  which  she  foresaw  would  be  used  to  over- 
come any  attemp  .  at  resistance  on  George's  part. 

The  count  I'iraself  was  not  without  some  uneasi- 
ness. In  spite  of  his  strong  will,  and  his  convic- 
tion tliat  he  would  be  right  in  insisting  on  his  son's 
complying  with  his  wiaJes,  he  knew  that  there  was 
a  point  beyond  which  he  could  not  go.  It  was  not 
in  his  power  to  oblige  him  to  obey,  and  George's 
silence  and  seclu-ion  madf  him  rather  afraid  that 
he  was  preparing  a  decided  resistance  to  tho  pro- 
posed raariiiige. 

At  one  o'clock  the  door  opened  and  George  camo 
in.  His  parents  and  his  brother  all  felt  at  that 
moment  a  secret  agitation.  Jacques  looked  anx- 
ious, M.  de  Vedelles  troubled,  and  Madame  de  Ve- 
dellea  could  hardly  restrain  her  tears.     ^ 

They  had  on  their  side  age,  authority,  conscious 
superiority  of  mind,  and  experience;  and  yet,  per- 
haps, because  of  a  slight  misgiving  that  they  were 
not  acting  in  quite  a  siraightforward  and  disinter- 
ested manner,  thev  seemed  enibarra  sed  in  the 
presence  of  one  whom  they  all  deemed  inferior  to 
them  elves  in  every  respect. 

George  went  up  to  M  de  Vedelles  and  said  : 
**  My  dear  father,  I  am  quite  ready  to  marry  the 
person  you  wish  me  to  marry." 

After  ho  had  uttered  those  few  words  it  seemed 
as  if  he  had  exhausted  his  po.ver  of  self -command* 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


and,  sitting  down  on  the  couch  near  his  mother,  he 
hid  his  f  ice  in  his  hands. 

M.  de  V^delles  breathed  freely.  To  hirh  the  re- 
lief was  great.  Without  a  strnggle,  without  any 
(xercise  of  authority  or  evtn  persuasion,  his  object 
Wiis  secured. 

**  That  is  rigljt,  my  dear  George,"  ho  said  ;  *'I 
felt  convinced  that  you  would  be  guided  by  our 
wishes." 

Jacques  was  delighted,  and,  going  up  to  his  bro- 
ther, warmly  shook  his  hand.  Madame  dc  Vudelles 
felt  a  weighn  on  her  heart  heavier  even  fchun  if  her 
soil  had  made  some  objections,  or  expressed  reluc- 
tance on  the  marriage  arranged  for  him.  She  made 
a  sign  to  her  husband  to  leave  iier  alone  with 
George,  and  he  and  Jacques  went  into  the  next 
room.  Then,  trying  to  tai«e  one  of  her  son's  hands 
ia  ht.rs,  she  said  : 

"  Do  you  really  mean  what  you  s  ly,  my  dear  boy  ? 
You  have  no  dislik.3  to  the  idea  of  marr}iag  Mile. 
Lescalle?" 

George  did  not  answer. 

"  Bjcause,"  his  mother  added  with  a  trembling 
voice — ^f  )r  her  fear  of  her  husband's  displeasure 
male  her  very  nervous,  though  it  did  not  prevent 
her  from  doing  her  duty — ''  if  you  hate  the  thought 
of  this  mairiage  you  must  say  so,  dea^  child.  We 
cannot  wish  to  forward  your  brother's  interests  at 
t  e  expense  of  your  happiness.  Come,  tell  me  the 
truth,  my  dear  George.  Is  it  the  fear  of  your 
father  that  makes  you  agree  to  marry  this  young 
girl  ?  " 


i  I 


I. 


It 


..      I 


» 

J 

r 


i'f 


IM 


156 


7'/^^'  Notary's  Daughter, 


"  No,  mother,  it  is  nok  fear  that  influences  me. 
Under  other  circumstances  I  should  have  refused 
my  consent  to  this  urrpngemant/' 

"  Oh  !  I  am  glad  ^0  hear  that,  my  dear  boy. 
Tiieti  you  have  not  auy  dislike  to  Hose  Lescallo  ? 
You  do  not  know  her  much,  but  I  am  sure  you 
must  thiuk  her  pleasing — don't  you  ?*' 

'*  I  have  never  thought  whether  she  is  pleasing 
or  not ;  I  marry  her  because  you  are  all  bent  upon 
it.  I  may  as  well  do  that  as  anything  else.  You 
wish  me  to  marry,  and  I  don't  care  whom  I  marry." 

*'  Well,  I  could  not  have  imagined  that  you  could 
be  as  indifferent  as  that,  George,  on  suchasubject. 
Have  you  ever  thought  about  it  ?  I  do  not  mean 
to  say  that  in  order  to  be  happy  together  people 
need  10  bo  what  is  called  in  love  with  each  other  ; 
but  marriage  is  a  very  serious  thing,  and  we  ought 
not  to  feel  a  distaste  for  the  person  who  is  to  be  our 
companion  for  life.  I  want  you  to  consider  the 
question  well,  and  not  to  act  in  this  important 
matter  witli  your  usual  thoughtlessnesS,  Try  to 
attend  to  what  I  say.  You  look  unhappy.  Do 
toll  me  the  truth,  George." 

•'All  I  can  tell  you,  mother,  is  that  I  have  no 
dislike  to  that  young  girl.  You  have  all  agreed 
that  I  had  better  marry,  so  that  if  I  refused  to 
comply  with  my  father's  wishr.'s  in  this  case  be 
would  soon  be  proposing  somebody  else  to  me.  It 
is  better  to  agree  at  once  to  what  ho  wishes,  and 
not  vex  him  and  my  brother  about  it.  Oh  1  my 
head  aches  dreadfully,  and  I  cannot  go  on  arguing 
on  this  subject.     I  have  never  gone  against  my 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


157 


father's  will,  much  ay  I  have  often  displeased  and 
irritated  him.  He  is  determined  I  shall  marry, 
and,  as  he  has  chosen  a  wife  for  me,  so  lot  it  be ; 
only,  please  do  not  ](t  us  talk  any  more  about  it." 
Madame  do  Vedelles  felt  sad  and  anxious,  bat 
said  nothing  more,  and  George  left  her. 

She  then  went  into  the  garden,  where  her  hus- 
band and  Jacques  were  strolling.  The  latter  came 
to  meet  his  mother,  and,  kissing  her,  said  : 

**  Weil,  dear  mother,  how  smoothly  it  is  all  going 
on — how  obedient  the  dear  fellow  is  I  I  suspect 
that  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart  he  is  very  much 
pleased." 

"  No,  Jacques,  I  don't  think  so.  He  is  very  un- 
^^PPy>  *"^<^>  I  am  afraid,  very  ill.  I  cannot  get 
him  to  speak  sensibly  on  the  subject.  He  says  he 
has  no  objection  to  this  marriage,  and  yet  he 
seems  wretchedly  out  of  spirits.  But  I  don't  think 
you  guessed  right  about  Deniso.  He  never  men- 
tioned her  name — did  not  even  allude  to  her.  His 
apathy  is  just  what  it  has  been  all  along,  only  he 
is  much  more  depressed  than  he  used  to  be." 

**  You  will  conjure  up  fears  and  miseries,"  the 
count  exclaimed.  "The  companionship  of  a 
charming  young  wife,  and  the  new  interests  of  a 
home  of  his  own,  will  rouse  him  out  of  this  roiOr- 
bid  state  of  mind." 

"  I  have  never  seen  him  look  so  miserable  as  he 
does  to-day." 

"  My  dear  mother,"  Jacques  said,  *"*  yau  will 
not  ste  things  as  they  are.  He  has,  I  have  no 
doubt,  some  trouble  to  give  up  his  dream  of  the 


158 


Thf  Notary's  Daughter. 


last  two  months,  and,  instead  of  worshipping  the 
dark  goddess  at  Touloa,  to  do  hom^^ge  to  the 
tttir  beauty  of  La  Ciotat.  But  depend  upon  it,  the 
struggle  will  be  sliort.  Little  Rose  is  charming, 
and  I  bet  you  anything  that  in  a  short  time  he  will 
be  enchanted  witli  his  destiny." 

**Ocd  grant  that  you  may  be  a  true  prophet  T* 
Madame  de  Vedelles  said  with.a  sigh. 


5;€)/^ 


CHAPTER  XL 


DfiJflSB  S   LKTTEB. 


Two  days  after  the  eventful  decision  which  ha^ 
given  so  much  satisfaction  to  M.  do  V6dellc8,  and 
80  mucli  anxiety  to  his  wife,  the  latter  received  a 
letter  dated  from  the  hospital  ab  Marseilles.  See- 
ing where  it  came  from,  she  concluded  it  was  a 
petition,  and  left  it  amongst  others  to  ho  read  and 
answered  later  iu  the  dav.  It  was  not  till  some 
hours  afterwards  that  she  opened  this  letter.  As 
soon  as  she  had  begun  reading  it  she  glanced  at 
the  signatuje  on  the  other  side  of  the  )>age,  saw 
the  Bamo*'Denise  de  la  Pin^nle,"  then,  turning 
back  to  the  tirst  page,  read  as  follows  • 

*'  IIopiTAL  Civil,  Maeseilles,  Juno  2. 

**  My  dear  friend  ;  I  feel  it  a  duty  to  tell  you 
what  I  would  cortiiinly  have  mentioned  to  you 
some  time  ago — during  some  of  those  hours  I  spent 
lirst  by  your  bcdsido  and  af  erwards  by  your  gar- 
don-chair,  sharing  the  anxiety  and  then  the  joy  of 
your  family,  and  fearing  for  a  while  as  if  I  belong- 
ed to  you  all^ — if  it  had  not  been  that  I  was  bound 
by  a  solemn  promise,  made  to  my  dear  father  on 
his  deuth-bed,  not  to  give  any  one  an  idea  of  what 

he  knew  was  my  intention  until  I  ha<l  attained  the 

xm 


\-: 


111 


f  -rl 


I 


p      ' 

i 

i 

i  ■ 

jtwiiMii^^ 

1 

HI 

i 

si 

J 

i6o 


The  Notary s  Daughter, 


age  of  twenty-one.  Ho  was  well  aware  that  from 
the  time  I  was  twelve,  and  made  my  First  Com- 
munion, I  had  never  but  one  thought  and  one  hope 
with  i-egard  to  my  fmure  life — that  of  becoming  a 
servant  of  God  and  the  poor,  a  Sister  of  Charity 
of  St.  Vincent  of  Paul. 
B-  **  My  dearest  father,  without  absolutely  object- 
ing to  my  following  my  vocation,  had  misgivings 
and  anxieties  on  the  subject,  i  could  not  obtain 
his  consent  to  my  leaving  him.  When  he  felt 
himself  dying,  he  spoke  some  beautiful  and  touch- 
ing words  of  assent  to  God's  will  in  that  respect, 
though  it  destroyed  his  favorite  dream  that  I  was 
to  marrv  and  live  at  La  Pin^de,  the  ancestral  home 
of  his  family.  But  ho  exacted  from  me  a  promise, 
as  I  have  already  said,  that  I  should  not  commit 
myself  to  the  life  I  had  chosen  before  a  year  after 
his  death,  and  until  that  time  keep  my  resolution 
a  profound  secret. 

"I  have  told  you  all  this,  my  dearest  friend,  to 
explain  a  s  lence  which  you  might  otherwise  think 
had  been  injudicious  and  unfair.  You,  with 
whom  ^  had  so  (iten  spoken  of  that  love  which  is 
above  all  loves,  and  in  which  every  earihly  love  is 
absorbed  and  transformed,  will  not  wonder  that, 
having  heard  the  voice  of  my  Lord  calling  me  to  it 
from  tiie  first  dawn  of  my  spiiitual  life,  I  should 
have  never  hesitated  to  follow  that  blessed  sum- 
mons. I  often  thought  that  you  had  guessed  my 
secret.  Had  I  ndt  been  under  that  impression,  I 
should  not  have  stayed  as  long  as  I  did  at  La 
Pin6de.    My  constant  prayer  will  be  in  my  present 


TIte  Notary s  Daughter, 


i6i 


dear  home — the  home  of  the  poor  and  the  suffering 
• — that  the  davs  I  remained  under  your  roof  may  not 
have  been  spent  there  entirely  in  vain  ;  that  if  un- 
consciously I  have  caused  pain  to  one  you  love,  that 
it  may  not  have  been  a  bitter  or  a  cruel  pain,  and 
that  blessings,  both  earthly  and  heavenly,  may 
soon  heal  and  dissipate  it. 

**  I  am  only  a  postulant  in  this  house,  but  my 
real  postulancy  began  yeari  ago  in  the  Chapel  of 
the  Sacred  Heart.  Even  as  a  child  J.  used  to  pro- 
mise our  Lord  to  belong  to  him,  and  to  him  alone, 
and  he  took  me  at  my  word. 

"  I  feel  bound  to  pray  for  both  your  sons.  The 
honor  M.  Jacques  has  done  me,  and  which  he  will 
now  forgive  me,  if  he  has  not  yet  done  so,  far  re- 
fusing, binds  me  to  remember  him  gratefully  be- 
fore God,  and  to  ask  unceasingly  for  him  tho 
priceless  gift  of  faith.  As  t j  M.  George,  his  rash 
vow  gives  me  a  sense  of  day  towards  him.  Soeur 
Deniso  will  one  day  claim  something  good  and 
great  from  him  in  return  for  her  appearance  in  the 
liti    chapel  of  La  Pin6cle. 

"You  now  understand,  dearest  friend,  my 
strange  request  that  yoa  will  keep  all  tho  relics  of 
my  dear  parents  in  tho  home  of  my  childhood.  I 
shall  never  bok  upon  them  again ;  my  home  will 
henceforward  bo  a  hospital,  or  a  house  of  charity, 
in  France  or  in  China,  in  Turkey  or  in  America. 
0  the  s'range,  the  intense  joy  of  snch  a  farewell  to 
all  but  Christ  and  his  poor.  Forgive  me  if  I  cannot 
restrain  this  cry  of  gratitude.  It  is  not  selfish, 
dear  friend.    I  carry  you  and  yours  in  my  heart — 


:  \^ 


i-''^ 


^^j 

1 62 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


a  weak  and  a  worthless  heart,  but  so  full  of  ardenfe 
desire  f  jr  the  salvation  of  souls  that  perhaps  God 
will  let  it  influence  with  that  holy  passion  those  it 
cherishes  and  prays  for. 

"  With  respectful  and  kind  regards  to  M.  I0 
Comte  de  Vedelles,  I  remain,  dear  countess,  your 
affectionate  '^Deisise  db  la  Pinede." 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  it  had  never  occurred  to 
Madame  do  Vedelles  to  suspect  what,  after  all,  was 
natural  enough  in  one  so  religion*  and  devoted  as 
Mile,  de  la  Pinede.  Iler  vocation  took  her  en-ire- 
ly  by  surprise  ;  but  the  urpriso  was  by  no  means 
a  disagreeable  one.  A  feeling  of  resentment, 
which  her  bitter  feelings  had  vainly  striven  en- 
tirely to  subdue,  had  been  working  in  her  heart  at 
Denise's  flat  refusal  of  Jacques'  proposal.  Since, 
indeed,  she  had  been  led  to  believe  tliat  George  had 
also  fallen  in  love  with  her,  she  had  rejoiced  that 
the  pain  and  embarrassment  which  might  have  en- 
sued from  stich  a  complication  had  been  avoided, 
but  still  she  could  not  get  over  the  fact  that  her 
handsome,  clever,  and  agreeable  son  had  met  with 
a  rebuff. 

It  was  t^Krefore  with  grateful,  soothed  feelings 
that  she  rejoiced  over  the  vocation  of  her  young 
friend,  and  the  thought  that  the  beautiful  and 
gifted  girl  who  had  made  so  deep  an  impression  on 
both  her  sons  would  be  acting,  as  it  were,  t'.iC  part 
of  a  guardian  angel,  invisibly  watching  over  lives 
which,  in  different  ways,  were  full  of  subjects  of 
anxiety,  was  dear  to  that  poor  mothers  heart.  She 
k  Denise's  letter  into  the  drawing  room,  where 


w 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


163 


her  sons  had  been  obliged  to  attend  all  t^ic  morn- 
ing to  the  count  and  M.  Le^^calle's  discussions  as  to 
the  maiTiage  settlements;  that  is  to  say,  Jacques 
had  listened,  and  novv  and  then  made  a  suggestion 
or  a  remark.  As  to  George,  he  did  not  appear 
more  interested  in  the  matter  than  if  there  had 
bjcn  question  of  the  letting  of  a  farm  or  a  sale  of 
timber.  At  last  the  notary  had  gathered  up  his 
papers,  taken  up  his  portfolio,  and  departed  well 
satisfied  with  the  rcsulf  of  his  morning's  work.  M. 
de  Vedelles  and  Jacques  were  talking  f  f  the  elec- 
tion, and  George  lying  half-asleep  on  the  couch. 

The  counte  s  came  in,  and,  sitting  do;vn  at  the 
table,  said  iii  a  low  voice  to  her  husband  r,  *•  Road 
this  let:er." 

M.  de  Vedelles  took  it,  and,  as  ho  mastered  the 
coiitents,  his  brows  were  raised  in  astonishment, 
and  a  doubtful  smile  hovered  on  his  lips.  But 
when  he  had  finiabed  it  he  said :  **  Well,  I  respect 
her  for  it.  She  is  acting  up  to  her  convictions. 
She  is  a  bravo  and  noble  soul.    I  wish —  " 

He  was  beginning  a  sentence  which  he  did  not 
finidi,  for  his  eyes  met  those  of  his  youngest  son 
fixed  upon  him  with  a  strange  and  deep  expression. 

"  You  must  read  this,  Jacques,"  ho  said,  hand- 
ing the  letter  to  the  eldest  brother. 

Jacquea  had  almost  got  over  his  att  »c'  mput,  if 
it  could  be  so  called,  to  Mile,  de  la  Pineuc,  but  hia 
vanity  had  been  cruelly  hurt.  When  it  was  made 
clear  to  him  that  she  had  rejected  him  for  no  other 
reason  than  the  strange  and,  to  him,  the  incom- 
prehensible one  that  she  liked  better  to  be  a  Sister 


III 


;i  1 


jtM&S^ 


164 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


of  Charity  than  the  Coantes  do  U  Pinede  and  hia 
wife,  be  felt  considerably  mollified  and  relieved. 
Tiic  untranJatublc  French  cjiculation  h  la  honne 
heure  escaped  hid  ^ips,  and  iheu  lie  added  :  "  Oh  I 
well,  ir  it  idi  /e  hon  Dieu  who  is  preferred  to  one,  it 
may  Ix^  a  matter  of  regret,  but  one  cannot  be 
affronted.    Don't  you  think  bo,  George  ?  *' 

He  handed  the  letter  carelessly  to  his  brother, 
who  took  it  in  an  absent  and  apparently  listless 
manner,  and,  slowly  getting  up  from  the  couch, 
walked  out  of  the  room  and  across  the  garden, 
straight  to  the  chapel.  There  Le  knelt  down,  and 
spread  Benise's  le.ter  before  him. 

Its  contents  were  no  news  to  him.  On  that 
evening  when  he  had  disappeared  from  tlio  family 
circle,  and  was  supposed  to  have  shut  himself  up 
in  ilia  room,  he  had  walked  all  the  way  to  Toulon. 
Scarcely  knowing  what  he  was  going  to  do,  he  felt 
he  must  see  Denise,  must  speak  to  her.  If  she 
gavo  him  the  slightest  hope—no,  not  even  hope  ; 
bat  if  she  did  not  laugh  at  his  love,  if  she  did  not 
scout  and  scorn  him,  if  she  would  suffer  him  to 
love  her  in  silence,  to  worship  her  in  secret;  if 
she  won  Id  take  him  in  hand  and  raise  him  by 
the  might  of  her  strong  faith  and  her  ardent 
devotion  to  t'.oso  higher  regions  of  the  soul  to 
whic'i  he  had  felt  his  spirit  led  during  her  stay 
at  La  Pin6do  ;  if  she  would  be  really  to,  him  a 
tisible  guardian  angel,  he  would  resist  every  at- 
tempt to  C'lain  hi^  life  to  that  of  anoilier  woman, 
and  brave  an  angry  father  whose  will  ho  had  never 
resisted. 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


165 


His  excitement  had"  increased  with  every  step  of 
that  toilcome  journey,  and  by  the  tin>o  lie  had 
reached  the  outskirts  ol  Toulon  the  transition 
from  light  to  darkness,  so  sudden  in  those  regions, 
was  just  taking  place.  Ho  was  making  his  way 
to  Madame  do  Brissac'i  house  with  a  wild,  impetu- 
ous determination  that  he  wouM  see  Dcnise,  that 
ho  would  pour  forth  at  her  feet  the  passionate  emo- 
tions of  his  heart,  and  liear  from  her  the  words 
which  would  give  him  courage  to  face  his  own 
family  and  ass:rfc  his  own  independence.  As  he 
hurried  along  the  Btrv.et,  some  one  tapped  him  on 
the  slioulder.  He  turned  round,  ai.d  saw  that  it 
was  Dr.  Dubois. 

**You  here,  M.  Georf^e?"  the  physician  said. 
"How  are  you  all  at  PineJe  ?  I  hope  Madame  la 
Comtesse  is  well,  and  feels  n  )  pain  in  her  arm  now. 
By  the  way,  I  suppose  slio  was  satisfied  with  tho 
garde  mdlade  I  recommcndvd.  She  is  a  capital 
hand  at.  nursing,  that  fair  lady,  and  will  make  an 
excellent  Slater  of  Charity.  JSTot  but  Ihat  I  think 
it  rather  a  pity  that  such  a  beautiful  Taco  s'lould 
be  hid  under  a  cornetle,  much  as  I  love  and  revere 
that  strange  head-dress." 

*'What  do  you  mean,  Dr.  Dubois?"  George 
stammered  in  a  nervous  manner.  "  Does  Mile,  do 
la  Pinede  intend — " 

**  Intend,  my  good  mr  1  She  toent  yesterday  to 
the  hospital  at  Marseilles,  and  is  at  thii  moment,  I 
have  no  doubt,  already  at  work  under  tho  si8tei*s. 
I  saw  her  just  before  her  departure.  No  bride  ever 
looked  brighter  and  happier.    Women  are  wonder* 


1 
.3J 

i^Ki 

i*! 


^H^IB^Li. 


-^-i 


i66 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


fill  when  tlicy  get  w  hafc  thy  call  a  vocation  and 
take  to  bo  saints.  There  \^.  a  bit  of  the  soldier, 
too,  in  these  S  isters  of  Charity.  I  like  them  for 
that.  They  arc  afraid  of  nothing.  Good-night, 
M.  George.  Give  my  kind  respects  to  M.  le  Comte 
and  Madame  la  Comtcsse." 

Gone  I — ^gone  for  ever  I  Severed  from  Lim,  not 
by  a  grate  or  by  convent  walls,  but  by  a  life  as 
hopcle  sly  separated  from  his  own  as  if  an  abyss 
had  opened  between  them.  George  felt  stunned," 
and  mechanically  walked  on  to  the  ranipar(s  till  he 
came  to  a  bench,  and  there  he  sat  looking  at  the 
sea  and  the  starry  sky  with  a  sort  of  hopeless,  dull 
dejecLion.  None  knew  what  had  been  the  suffer- 
ings of  his  soul  during  the  last  three  year*.  He 
had  led  a  very  strange,  a  very  lonely  life,  with  no 
inward  light  a^  to  his  own  state  of  mind,  puzzled 
about  himself  as  much  as  others  we-re  about  him. 
IFrom  tlie  moment  he  had  seen  Donise  the  apathy 
"which  lidd  60  long  oppressed  him  disappeared. 
His  admiration — his  love  at  first  sight  for  her — 
eeeracd  to  asvaken  his  dormant  faculties.  Her 
faith  and  her  enthusiasm  rekindled  smouldering 
spaiks  w'  ich  had  languished  in  his  soul.  Goorgo 
had  never  lost  his  belief  in  religion,  or  entirely 
omitted  its  most  essential  duties;  but  since  his  ill- 
ness ho  had  not  thought  much  about  it.  His 
piety,  if  ho  had  any,  was  of  the  vaguest  descrip- 
tion— a  sort  of  almost  pantheistic  worship  of  the 
beauties  of  natui'e — a  poetical  and  dreamy  religious 
feeling,  such  as  inspired  Victor  Hugo  in  his  earlier 
days,  and  Lamartino  when  he  wrote  his  medita- 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


167 


lions  and  had  not  yet  indulged  in  wild  sophistry 
and  heretical  aberrations. 

But  Dcnise's  faith  had  struck  him  as  something 
at  once  divine  and  real.  During  the  three  weeks 
she  had  spent  at  La  Pin6de  the  life  of  his  soul  had 
revived,  but  it  was  only  a  reflected  light  as  yot. 
During  her  absence  he  had  suffered  deeply.  Her 
presence  had  been  the  delight,  and  at  tie  same  time 
the  strength,  as  it  were,  of  his  existence.  It  was 
as  if  a  blind  person  had  for  a  while,  in  some 
strange  manner,  seen  and  gazed  on  a  world  new  to 
him,  and  then  that  the  .Tight  had  gone  out  and  left 
him  in  his  previous  darkness.  But  still  he  had 
lived  on  the  memory  of  those  days.  He  had 
looked  to  their  renewal ;  he  had  seen  bright  visions, 
and  dreamed  hopeless  dreams,  till  that  moment 
when,  sitting  in  the  deepening  shades  of  night, 
he  felt  the  old,  hard,  dull  feeling  in  his  heart  re- 
turning, only  with  a  more  aching  oppression  than 
before. 

At  last  he  rose,  and  with  feverish  speed  retraced 
his  steps.  It  was  then  that  the  little  shepherds 
thought  they  saw  a  gliost  pass  them  on  the  road  ; 
it  was  then  that  he  silently  slipped  into  his  room  ; 
then  tliat  he  took  out  of  their  box  the  toys  of  little 
Dcnise  de  la  Pinede,  and  wept  over  them  as  a 
child  ;  then  that  he  felt  careless  of  his  own  destiny, 
indifferent  to  his  own  life — anything  then  he  could 
endure  except  a  struggle,  except  another  allusion 
to  his  vain  love  for  that  angel  who  had  disappeared 
for  ever  from  his  sight;  then  that  he  had  yielded 


:!  'i 


that  calm,  supine  consent  to  a 


marriago 


V.  hich 


i68 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


could  not  make  him  more  miserable  than  ho  was, 
and  at  any  rato  would  content  otiiers. 

When  Denise*s  letter  was  given  to  him,  he  car- 
ried i%  as  we  have  said,  into  the  chapel  where  he 
had  last  seen  her.  He  road  ib  on  his  knees,  and 
it  soothed  his  anguish.  The  idea  t'lat  in  prayer, 
at  least,  she  would  sometimes  think  of  him  re- 
lieved the  sharp  pain  at  his  heart.  He  rejoiced  at 
the  vow  he  hud  made.  It  seemed  to  keep  up  a 
sort  of  link  between  them.  He  did  not  pray,  un- 
less there  was  a  tacit  prayer  in  t'  o  tears  ho  shed  in 
our  Lord*s  presoncp,  and  his  silent  gazo  ab  the 
tabernacle,  wliich  ho  ha  I  seen  her  gazing  at  with 
such  inc  bio  love  ;  but  there  cam  to  him  during 
those  hours  thoughts  which  made  him  say  to  his 
mother,  when  he  gave  her  back  Denise's  letter, 
"  S'le  has  chosen  tho  better  par\" 


m\\ 


*\ 


CHAPTER  XIL 


A   MISCONCEPTION. 


In  the  nudst  of  the  sort  of  moral  tempesk  in 
which  Rose  Lcficalle  found  herself  submerged,  she 
turned  towards  what  seemed  to  her  a  beacon  light 
in  a  dark  sea — the  wise  and  tender  love  of  her  old 
Aunt  Mede. 

In  the  evening  of  the  day  when  the  scene  wc  had 
described  had  taken  place  in  the  notary's  house, 
Bhe  went  out  by  a  back  door,  walked  down  an 
ftUpy  which  led  to  the  old  ramparts  of  La  Oiotat, 
and  then,  hiding  her  face  with  her  veil,  and  walk- 
ing as  fast  as  if  she  was  making  her  esc:i^^e,  took 
the  road  to  the  Capuchins. 

When  she  arrived  under  the  dark  projection 
which  formed  a  sort  of  ^^orch  to  the  old  convent, 
she  raised  with  a  trembling  hand  the  heavy  iron 
latch,  and  crossing  a  dark  passage  rushed  into  the 
hall,  where  Mis6  Med^'s  old  servant  was  spinning. 

"  Jesus  I  Mary  I  how  you  frightened  me,  made- 
moiselle ! "  Marion  exrl aimed,  quite  startled  at  the 
young  lady's  sudden  appearance. 

"  Marion,  where  is  my  aunt  ?"  Rose  asked. 

**  Where  she  is  now,  that  is  difficult  to  say  ;  bat 
if  Blanquette  has  made  good  use  of  her  legs  fBlan^' 

lfl9 


^ 


JK'f,;  BtaB-l-gii 


170 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


quette  was  tlio  maro  that  dragged  Mise  M6(ic's  tilted 
oart]  he  must  be  a  good  way  (*fif  by  tlu8  time.'' 
*•  What  I  is  my  aunt  gone  out  ?'* 

*'  Gone  out  ?     She  is  gone  away  I " 

"  Good  heavens  I  Gone  away  !  Why  ?  When  ?" 
Eose  exclaimed  in  despair  at  this  ne.vs. 

"  What  Lapponed  was  this,  mademoiselle  :  Mis6 
Mede  received  this  morning  a  letter  from  her  old 
cousin,  M.  Vincent  Lcscalle,  cure  of  St.  Blaise. 
The  poor  dear  man  said  he  was  very  ill,  and  want- 
ed to  see  her  before  ho  died.  Miac  said,  *  I  must 
be  off/  and  no  sooner  said  than  done.  She  stuffed 
six  chemises  and  two  or  three  jackets  into  a  bag, 
ordered  Blanquette  to  be  harnessed,  and  off  she  went 
full  trot  to  Marseilles  on  her  way  to  St.  Blaise.*' 

"Without  letting  us  know,"  Rose  sighed. 

"  Oh  !  but,  indeed,  she  did  write  a  note  to  M. 
Lescalle — here  it  is  in  my  pocket.  She  told  me  to 
take  it,  but  i  thought  there  was  no  hurry.  I  meant 
to  give  it  to  Oasimir  the  carrier ;  but  as  you  are 
here,  mademoiselle,  perhaps  you  will  take  charge 
of  it.^' 

Rose  took  the  letter,  and  in  an  absent  manner 
twisted  it  in  her  fingers. 

"Don't  you  bother  yourself  about  that  letter, 
mademoiselle;  there  is  nothing  in  it  but  what  I 
have  told  you." 

**  Oh  I  dear  me,"  Rose  exclaimed,  "  what  a  terrible 
thing  iliis  is  !" 

"  The  illness  of  the  good  cure  ?  But  you  see  he 
is  past  eighty,  the  poor  dear  old  man  I  It  is  a  good 
old  age,  and  we  can't  live  for  ever." 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


171 


*'  No,  thank  God  I "  Roeo  could  not  help  ejaca- 
lating. 

Astonished  at  this  strange  exclamation,  Marion 
looked  at  her  mistress'  niece,  and  wns  struck  at 
seeing  her  countenance  so  agitated.  T  venty  ques- 
tions were  lising  to  her  lip3,  but,  unfortunately  for 
her  eager,  and  indeed  anxious,  curiosity,  the  noise 
of  Casirriir's  conveyance  and  his  own  entrance  into 
Iho  room  in^ernipted  the  conversation.  Rose  asked 
if  his  carriage  was  empty,  and,  hearing  that  it  was, 
asked  him  to  set  her  down  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue 
Droite,  for  she  felt  afraid  of  walking  homo  alone 
along  the  beach. 

"Not  at  your  own  door,  Mis^  Rose  ?"  Casimir 
asked.  "I  don't  mind  going  ^^'jt  of  my  way  to 
oblige  any  of  Mis^  M6d6's  relations." 

"No,"  Rose  quickly  replied,  "put  me  down 
wh(  re  I  told  you." 

Even  the  carrier  could  not  help  seeing  that  the 
young  lady  looked  unhappy  and  spoke  in  a  sharp, 
nervous  voice.  He  remembered  what  was  already 
the  talk  of  the  town — namely,  that  the  notary  had 
publicly  bj-oken  off  his  daughter's  marriage  with 
the  handsome  Artemon  Richer,  and  that  Mise 
Rose  had  been  crying  her  eyes  out  in  consequence  ; 
and  as  the  honest  fellow  handed  her  out  of  his 
cabriolet,  and  watched  her  until  she  disappeared 
round  the  corner  near  her  father's  house,  he  gave 
way  to  sundry  inward  expressions  cf  disapproba- 
tion of  the  tyranny  of  parents  and  pity  for  Mise 
Med6's  niece.  Everything  that  belonged  to  the 
old  lady  was  sacred  in  his  eyes,  and  the  poor  car- 


172 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


rier  knew  that  Mis©  Rose  w»8  the  very  apple  of  her 
oyc. 

In  the  coarse  of  that  evening  Madame  Lescalle 
ha'.l  made  one  more  effort  in  behalf  of  her  daughter, 
"whose  grief  sat  heavily  on  her  heart.  The  Barcn 
de  Oroixfond  had  left  his  card  for  M.  Le«ealle,  and 
she  jumped  at  the  idea  that  since  the  Oomte  de 
Yedelles  had  nob  disdained  to  connect  himself  with 
them,  it  was  not  at  all  improbable  that  M»  C^saire 
might,  after  all,  propose  for  Rose, 

**He  is  good-looking — young  Oroixfond,**  she 
said ;  '"^Rose  would  like  him  much  better,  I  am 
sure,  than  that  stupid  George  de  VMeiles*' — she 
did  not  ventnre  to  ^tij  fada,  "  You  have  been  too 
much  in  a  hun'y  about  this  marriage,  Toussaint.'* 

"Nonsense,  Virginie  !  *  Yon  are  so  foolish  about 
thid  sort  of  thing.  Don't  you  see  that  we  should 
have  been  obliged  to  gi'^a  fifty  thonsaxid  fiancs 
with  Rose  if  she  had  mxrried  the  baron's  eon, 
"whereas  the  De  VMelles  make  settlements  and  tto 
nob  care  about  her  fortune.  It  is  a  wonderful  piece 
of  luck,  I  can  tell  you,  and  your  daughter  wilJ 
think  so  too  when  she  gets  over  all  these  school-giii 
fancies  and  becomes  a  sensible  woman." 

Rose  was  indeed  so  muoh  niadpr  the  infliuenco  of 
what  her  father  called  her  school- girl  fancies  that 
she  still  cherished  a  lingering  hojKJ  that  her 
marriage  would  not  take  place.  Mis^  M^d6 
was  the  only  perst^n  capable  of  influeneiug  M. 
Lescalle's  actions,  and  she  clung  to  ihe  tbonghi 
that  by  writing  to  Ler  and  letting  hep  know  what 
was  going  on  she  might  yet  escape  her  dreaded 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


173 


tate.  Accordingly,  she  scDt  a  letter  to  her  aunt,  m 
which  she  implored  her  to  come  back  as  soon  ag 
possible  and  lielp  her  out;  of  this  hatefal  predica- 
nient  WhesA  t';;is  Iiad  been  accomplished  she  felfc 
quieter,  and  oilered  no  active  opposition  to  her 
fiiLher'a  projects. 

As  to  M.  Lescaile,  he  hastened  affairs  as  much  as 
possible,  and  contrived  so  effectually  to  expedite 
thora  tiidt  a  week  after  tlie  conditioiis  as  to  settle- 
ments Lad  been  agreed  npon  by  tbe  two  fathers. 
M.  lo  Car6  of  LaOiotat  published,  on  Sunday  afier 
the  Prdne,the  banns  of  marnage  between  MJe  Baron 
George  do  Yedellcs  and  Mademoiaeile  Lcscalle, 

The  congregation  nas  taken  by  surprise,  and  ex- 
treme was  the  excitemeii  t  produced  by  this  announce- 
ment. The  sudden  rupture  with  the  Richers  and 
the  news  of  this  most  unexpected  marriage  became, 
of  course,  a  general  and  inces.  «?Kt  subject  of  convert 
sation  in  the  town  and  in  the  neighborhood.  A  party 
was  immediately  formed  on  the  side  of  the  Richers, 
which  loudly  att^icked  M.  Lescalle,  who  was  ac- 
cused of  sacrificing  his  daughter  to  Jiis  ambition 
and  vanity.  It  waa  said  that  Rose  was  in  love  with 
Artcraon  Richer,  but  that  lier  parents  compelled 
her  to  marry  that  little  idiotic  Baron  de  Vedellcs. 
This  gave  rise  to  all  sorts  of  exaggerated  reports 
and  inventions,  which  Rose's  pale  and  dejected 
countonanco  eeemcd  to  confirm.  M.  Art6mon, 
though  inwardly  oonsci(»tiB  that  at  any  rate  the  first 
part  of  the  etory  had  no  foundation,  found  it  too 
soothing  to  his  vanity  not  to  c-ncoura^^e  a  belief  in 
it.     Thi«  generally  accepted  version  of  tiio  stnt,;  (f 


174 


Tke  Notary s  Daughter, 


the  case  eQabled  bim  to  bear  his  disappointment 
with  equanimity,  and  the  idea  that  he  might  main- 
tain friendly  relatione  with  Madame  George  d.e 
V6del)es  after  her  marriage  with  a  man  3he  wad 
Bure  to  hate  and  despise  kept  him  from  openly  re- 
senting the  way  in  wbich  her  father  had  behayed 
to  him. 

As  to  the  Richer  family .  who  were  restrained  by 
no  such  considerations,  they  were  load  and  bitter 
ill  thoir  abnfeC'  of  the  notary. 

The  Croixfonds,  who  had  also  been  thrown  over 
byJ\r.  Lesculle,  vented  their  resentment  by  taking 
part  with  the  Richers.  Ic  was  carious  to  see  how 
on  this  occasioF;  the  representatives  in  Li  Ciotat 
of  a  penarious  aristocracy  and  <  f  a  wealthy  de- 
mocracy T/e.:e  for  the  time  being  united  by  a  sense 
01  common  wrongs.  This  momentary  fusion  of 
the  two  oamps  produced  a  somewhat  formidable 
araojnt  of  hostility.  M.  Lescalle  saw  this  very 
plainly,  and  did  not  like  it  at  all.  Ee  hated  a 
struggle.  His  character  was  peaceable  as  well  as 
ambitious,  and  what  he  wanted  was  to  cany  his 
point  without  an  open  breach  with  anybody.  The 
sen&at^'o*!  produced  by  tliis  marriage  began  to  dis- 
quiet him,  and  he  was  particularly  afraid  of  theso 
drawing-room  agitations  reaching  the  ears  and  ex- 
citing the  feelings  of  his  electoral  clients. 

He  knew  very  well  that  the  lower  classes  in 
town  and  country  do  noi.  easily  interest  themselves 
in  discussions  of  this  sort,  but  that  they  are  quite 
capable  of  being  roused  to  it  if  they  become  loud 
and  prolonged.     The  circumstances  were  impera- 


The  Notary's  Daughter* 


m 


i 


tivo  ;  there  seemed  but  one  thing  to  do,  and  that 
was  to  hurry  on  the  immediate  conclusion  of  the 
marriage.  That  onco  accomplished,  discussions 
would  be  useless,  and  tlie  subject  soon  dropped. 

With  this  \iew  he  expedited  all  the  necessary 
pre*iminaries  and  preparation?,  alleging  in  his  rea- 
son an  argument  most  powerful  in  the  eyes  of  tho 
Comte  de  Vedelles  and  his  eldest  son — viz.,  tho  nt- 
cessity  of  his  going,  without  loss  of  time,  on  a 
round  of  visits  to  the  voters  in  order  to  secure 
their  support  for  Jacques  de  Vedelles. 

ViThen  everything  was  ready,  and  then  only,  he 
wrote  to  Aunt  Mode  to  urge  her  to  come  back. 
He  had  taken  care  in  his  letter  not  to  inform  her 
fully  of  tho  state  of  the  case.  Wiicn  he  announced 
to  her  Rose's  marriage  ho  spoke  of  his  future  son- 
in-law  as  tho  son  (f  t!ie  Comte  de  Vedellos,  and 
poor  Mis6  Mode  never  had  any  doubt  but  that  it 
was  Jacques  who  was  going  to  marry  her  darling. 

The  notary's  posiiion  had  become  desperate  from 
the  moment  he  had  burned  his  ships  with  regard 
to  any  other  alliance  than  that  with  the  Vedelles, 
and  he  felt  it  impossible  to  stop  at  half  measures, 
so  ho  intercepted  Rose's  appealing  letter  to  her 
aunt,  and  reasoned  himself  into  the  belief  that  he 
was  acting  in  the  best  way  for  his  daughter's  hap- 
piness and  peace  of  mind.  Tiiat  tho  marriage 
must  take  place  was  a  matter  of  course,  and  much 
tho  best  thing  that  could  happen  to  her.  There- 
fore it  would  clearly  be  wrong  not  to  prevent  by 
every  means  in  liid  power  the  bad  effects  which 
Aunt  Mode's  unreasoning  tenderness  and  her  ex- 


176 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


aggerated  scruples,  founded  on  idle,  groundless  re- 
ports, might  produce  in  tlie  girPs  mind. 

K'ot  hearing  from  Rose  lierself,  Mis6  Med6  said 
to  herself :  "  The  dear  child  is  too  full  of  lier  hap- 
piness and  too  busy,  I  suppose,  about  her  trousseau 
to  write  to  her  old  auut.  Never  mind,  the  sight  of 
her  sweet,  bright  face  when  we  meet  will  teil  me 
more  than  any  letters  can  do." 

It  seemed  an  if  fortuitous  circumstances  con- 
spired to  favor  M.  Lescalle's  schemes.  One  morn- 
jug  the  Mayor  of  La  Ciotat  walked  into  hi3 
office. 

"My  dear  Lescalle,"  he  said,  **was  it  not  on 
Thursday  next  th.'»^  've  ^/ore  going  to  marry  your 
daughter?" 

"  Yes,  my  dear  sir;  at  ten  o'clock  on  Thursday 
n  orning." 

''Oh  J  I  tliouglifc  80  ;  but  I  have  come  to  ask  if 
you  would  mind  delaying  it  a  litile.  The  prefect 
has  written  and  invited  nie  to  stay  with  him  for 
two  days.  He  wants  to  speok  to  me  on  some 
important  business,  but  I  shall  bo  homo  again  on 
SAUirday  evening." 

**  ^rhen  that  would  put  off  the  marriage  to  the 
following  Monday  ?" 

*'Yes." 

ThitJ  did  not  aj.  all  suit  M,  Lescalie^s  views..  To 
wait  till  Monday  was  to  leave  Mis6  M6fl6,  who  waa 
to  arrive  oii  Wednesday  night,  tho  ove  of  the  day 
fixed  for  liu^  civil  marriage,  for  four  days  longer  lo 
cry  with  t  nd  over  Rose,  a,  C  \  .rt)*f»^  stir  her  up  to 
jgifltanco.    That  woai'i  'i'^^i^'-^^fv 


■Pi 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


177 


Suddenly  a  bright  thought  struck  the  notary's 
mind. 

**  When  do  you  go  ?  "  he  asked  the  mayor. 

"We'luesday  eveuing." 

"Then  how  would  it  be  if,  instead  of  postpon- 
ing the  marriage,  .we  were  to  fix  on  Wednesday,  iu- 
stead  of  Thursday,  morning  for  ihe  ceremony  at 
the  Mairie.    Wculd  that  be  inconvenient  to  you  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least." 

"  You  can  arrange  for  Wednesday  r " 

*'  Perfectly." 

"Well,  then,  I  think  we  shall  settle  upon  tli.it. 
I  shall  go  at  once  and  arrange  it  with  M.  d;,'  Vc~ 
delles." 

"How  will  it  be  about  Mile.  Mede's  arrival  ? 
Can  you  get  her  here  in  time  ?" 

"  Oh  I  I  dare  ''ay  she  will  be  here  before  Wednes- 
dfiy.  We  can  wriie  to  her,  you  know.  But  if  by 
any  chance  she  did  not  come  in  time  for  your  part 
of  the  business,  M.  le  Maire,  she  would  he  present 
at  the  religious  function,  which  will  take  place  on 
Thursday.  That,  you  know,  is  the  chief  thing  in 
my  Aunt  Mode's  eyes." 

This  change  of  days  ensured  the  desired  object. 
Aunt  Medo  would  not  arrive  before  R  fie's  fate  was 
fixed,  and  this  was  a  great  relief  lo  M.  Lescallo. 

Mis6  Med6  had  been  rather  suvprised  that  such 
short  notice  had  been  given  her  of  the  day  of  the 
mjirriage.  She  had  only  been  left  just  lime  to  ar- 
rive in  time.  Her  old  relative  had  been  getirjg 
better  for  the  last  fortnight.  She  took  an  affec- 
tionate leave  of  him,  and  ihen,  with  a  heart  as 


'^m 


P*T 


178 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


light  as  a  young  girl's,  she  began  her  homevvard 
journej,  full  of  joy  at  the  idea  of  Rose'.s  happiness. 
As  she  travelled  from  Monosqne  to  Marceillea,,  and 
then  to  La  Ciotafe,  the  most  deligUtfui  iilusious  oc- 
cupied her  mind. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


THE  CIVIL    MARRIAGE. 


"Few  are  the  words  which,  once  read  over,  to- 
tally change  our  existence  and  fix  our  fate  \\\  life 
for  evp.."* 

This  was  written  by  an  English  anihowss  fifty 
year?  ago,  when  the  Anglican  service  was  the  only 
valid  form  of  marriage  for  all  persons  in  this  coun- 
try, whatever  migiit  be  their  own  i^eligion.  But 
simpler  and  yet  more  dry  is  the  purely  civil  cere- 
mony which  in  France  seals,  in  the  eye  of  t!»c  law, 
the  contract  linking  together  for  ever  two  human 
destinies.  It  seems  so  easy  to  write  onc^s  name  at 
the  bottom  of  a  page  of  a  register,  and  to  give  a 
monosyllabic  answer  to  the  question  put  to  one  by 
a  gentleman  in  black,  after  reading  aloud  a  string 
of  official  sentenced. 

The  only  valid  part  of  the  groat  act  called  mar- 
riage wldch  the  law  tiikes  oognizancr»  of  k  now  no- 
thing more  than  a  simple  formility.  Oj  !  if  young 
people  thought  more  of  what  they  weT©  dmng,  if 
tiiey  considered   the  irrevocable  nature  of  thoM 


♦  "Marriage  in  High  Ufo." 


i8o 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


e;isily-attered  worils,  of  that  signature  so  sliglitly 
giveu,  would  they  not  oftener  hcsifcute  in  following 
tJio  impulses  of  their  own  impetuous  self-will,  or 
yioidiig  too  easily  (o  the  persuasions  of  others? 
Would  they  not  be  more  afraid  of  rushing,  without 
j)rayer,  without  reason,  without  guidance,  into  an 
indissoluble  union,  tlie  holiest  of  earthly  vocations 
when  sanctified  by  religion,  the  dreariest  of  bon- 
dages when  unblest  by  human  love  and  unsnstained 
by  the  grace  of  the  sacrament  ? 

But  youth  is  thoughtless,  it  attaches  little  impor- 
tance to  its  own  acts,  it  'm  prone  to  hope  blindly, 
and  hope  makes  it  careless.  The  ouly  undying  re- 
collections connected  with  the  marriage  cerrmony, 
our  French  authoress  says,  are  those  of  the  roll- 
gious  service  which  consecrates  it.  "  Who,"  she 
asks,  "rememb'^ra  the  Mairie  whero  th^y  signed 
their  names  ?  Who  ever  forgets  the  altar  where 
they  received  the  blessing  of  the  priest  ?  " 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  inward  arugglep  or 
secret  despondency  of  Getrge  do  Vedelloa  and  Hose 
Lescalle,  they  made  no  i-emark  and  oiferi'd  no  op- 
position when  their  respective  parents  informed 
them  of  the  day  fixed  upon  for  their  marriage. 

A3  to  Rose,  she  had  been  hourly  expecting  to 
hear  from  her  Aunt  M6de,  whose  continued  and 
unaccountable  silence  was  a  perfect  mystery  to  her. 
On  thef3V0  of  the  day  fixed  upon  for  the  marriage 
M.  L  soalle  called  hie  daughter  into  his  study. 
"Here  is  a  letter  fox' yoa,  Rosette,"  he  said— -"a 
letter  from  your  Aunt  Med6."  Rose  made  a  joyful 
exclamation,  eagerly  took  the  letter  and  carried  it 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


i8l 


to  her  own  room,  opened  ifc  with  a  beating  heart, 
and  read  as  follows : 

MoNOSQUE,  Sunday. 

My  beloved  Kosette:  lam  deligi;ted  to  hear 
of  your  marriage  vith  M.  do  Vcdclles.  His  mo- 
ther is  so  good  that  I  am  sure  her  son  must  be 
good  too,  and  if  he  is  not  everything  we  could  wish 
in  one  respect,  I  feci  sure  that  time  and  your  in- 
fluence will  work  a  great    hangein  him. 

I  shall  arrive  at  Ln  Ciotat  early  on  Thursday 
morning.  Yon  can  reckon  upon  me,  my  darling. 
Your  old  aunt  will  be  near  you  at  the  happy  and 
important  moment,  dear  Eosette,  ard  join  her 
earnest  prayers  f  )r  your  happiness  to  the  blessing 
of  the  Church.     A  revoir,  my  dear  child. 

I  remain,  your  affectionate  aunt, 

Mede  Lescalle. 

This,  then,  was  the  final  blow  to  Rose's  hopes  I 
This  the  answer  to  her  impassioned  pleadings. 
Aunt  M4d^  mUmily  rejoiced  at  her  marriage,  and 
satisfied  herself  wiiii  hopes  of  a  change  in  the  one 
respect  in  which  it  did  not  seem  to  her  completely 
satisfactory.  "  Time  and  my  influence  I "  Rose 
ejaculated  with  bitterness.  **WiIl  they  change  a 
fool  into  a  sensible  man  ?  " 

But  this  last  disappointmen^,  if  severe,  entirely 
deprived  her  of  all  energy.  She  saw  no  option  but 
to  submit  with  a  dull,  &m\  resignation. 

On  Wednesday  morning  the  ^Jomte  de  V6delleg' 
carriage,  driven  by  aeoachnganin  fall  Msety,  passed 
through  the  streets  of  La  Oiotat,  and  attracted  to 
their  doors  all  the  inhabitanls  of  the  little  town. 


f||H|»|| 


1 82 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


It  stopped  before  the  door  of  the  Mairie,  and  all  the 
family  got  out,  Jacques  first,  iu  his  best  looks, 
smiling  and  gracious,  and  then  George,  pale  and 
pensive,  but  without  any  of  that  feverish  agitation 
he  had  shown  duiing  the  previous  weeks.  Whether 
from  indifference  or  from  self-command,  nothing 
could  be  more  simple  and  dignified  than  his  man- 
nor.  Every  one  was  surprised.  Those  who  did 
not  know  him  had  expected  to  see  quite  a  different 
sort  of  person,  and  even  his  relatives  were  aston- 
ished at  his  composure. 

The  Lescallo  family  arrived  shortly  afterwards. 
Madame  Lsscalle  did  not  attempt  to  conceal  her 
self-complaconfc  feelings.  Her  eyes  glanced  with  a 
triumphant  expression  j'ound  the  room.  The  no- 
tary tried  to  assume  ^a  commanding  appearance. 
Rose,  though  her  eyes  were  red,  behaved  very  well. 
Her  mother  had  told  her  of  the  report  in  the  town 
that  she  was  breaking  lier  heai'fc  for  Artemon 
Richer,  and  this  had  put  her  on  her  mettle.  She 
was  resolved  that  nothing'  in  her  looks  or  manner 
should  countenance  this  supposition. 

Then  M.  Ic  Maire  camo  in,  and  stood  behind  the 
long  table  covered  with  green  cloth  which,  with 
some  wooden  benches  and  two  wicker  arm-chairs, 
furnished  the  room.  Wearing  his  red  official  so  irf 
round  his  thin  figure,  and  with  the  bust  of  King 
Louis  Philippe,  in  white  plaster,  forming  a  back 
ground  to  his  mild  and  intelligent  countenance,  he 
proceeded  t^  perform  the  ceremony. 

All  those  concerned  in  it  felt  at  that  moment  a 
BorL  of  uneasiness,  and  a  ratiier  tronblesomo  sense 


Tlie  Notary's  Daughter, 


183 


of  having  taken  upon  themselves  a  serious  respon- 
sibility. George  and  Kose,  though  the  saddest  of 
the  party,  were  probably  more  peaceful  at  » -art 
than  their  rela  es.  They  were  acting  under  obedi- 
ence, and  their  consciences  did  not  reproach  them. 

Madame  de  "^'cdelles  was  pile  and  nervous  ;  it  so 
happened  tha  i  minor  cause  of  anxiety,  but  one 
which  invo1^ed  consid*  able  emba- rassment,  was 
preoccupying  her  mind,  and — such  is  human 
nature — somewhat  tn-  ing  off  her  thoughts  from 
the  solemn  considerations  of  the  moment. 

It  had  been  arranged  that  the  Lescalle  family 
should  spend  the  rcso  of  the  day  at  La  Pinede,  and 
that  on  the  morrow,  after  the  religious  ceremony, 
M.  and  Madame  de  Vedelles  iud  Jacques,  who  had 
business  to  do  in  Paris  wuich  had  beeu  delayed  on 
account  of  the  w  Idiug,  wou'd  take  this  opportu- 
nity of  going  there,  and  leave  the  chateau  to  the 
young  couple  for  their  lion  y moon,  returning  in 
time  for  the  business  of  the  election. 

But  that  very  morning  the  doctor,  who  had  been 
Bent  for,  to  see  a  housemaid  who  had  been  ailing 
for  some  days,  h£.i  declared  that  she  had  the  scar- 
let fever,  and  gave  the  startling  intelligence  that 
the  gardener's  c 'ildren  were  all  laid  np  with  it. 
This  had  occurred  just  as  the  count  and  countess 
were  dres  iug  and  the  carriage  was  at  the  door. 
George  had  had  the  scarlet  fever,  so  on  his  account 
there  was  no  great  fear,  thougli  even  in  that  case  it 
would  scarcely  have  bfon  prudent  to  remain  in  the 
house,  but  for  Rose  to  go  there  was  clearly  impos- 
sible. 


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The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


To  put  off  the  marriage  at  the  lafst  moment  was, 
under  the  circumstances,  equally  oat  of  the  ques- 
tion, and  whtre  to  send  the  young  people  the  next 
day  sadly  puzzled  Madanie  de  Vedclles.  She  drew 
Madame  Lescalle  aside  as  soon  as  the  ceremony  was 
over,  and  looked  so  miserable  thac  had  it  been  be- 
fore instead  of  after  the  irrevocable  act  had  been 
performed,  that  lady  would  have  been  greatly 
alarmed.  When  the  state  of  the  case  was  made 
known  to  her,  she  of  course  declared  that  Rose,  not 
having  had  the  scarlet  fever,  could  not  go  near 
La  Pinede,  and  for  ft- moment  sh3  paused  and  re- 
flected, and  looked  as  distressed  as  the  countess. 
But  suddenly,  to  the  inexpressible  relief  of  both, 
she  exclaimed: 

'*  Wc  have  a  little  jo/ivt7tow  a  few  miles  off  in  the 
mountains,  culK  tl  Belbousquet,  rather  a  pretty  sort 
of  a  villa,  Wirv  s'.iould  not  the  young  couple  take 
up  their  abode  there  ?" 

<'By  all  means,"  Madame  de  Vedelles  replied, 
brig'itcning  up.  And  after  some  conversation  with 
the  count  and  M.  Lescalle,  and,  for  form's  £ako, 
with  George  and  Rose,  the  matt  r  was  so  arranged. 

The  sick  housemaid  had  been  excluded  from  the 
rest  of  the  household,  and  no  danger  was  feared 
for  the  Do  Vedelles  in  returning  for  one  night  to 
tho  chateau.  But  as  Rose  was  not  to  go  there,  it 
was  decided  that  the  afternoon  should  be  spent  at 
tho  Oapucins  instead,  and  provisions  for  a  cold  din- 
ner were  hnstily  sent  there.  This  was  a  very  trying 
arrangement  to  Rose.  The  sight  of  tho  home  of 
her  happy  cbikliiood,  the  rooms  and  the  gardens 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


185 


where  she  had  placed  as  a  little  girl  at  her  old 
Aunt  Mede's  feet,  seemed  to  revive  all  tlje  sharp- 
ness of  her  sorrow,  and  she  had  the  greatest  possi- 
ble t?;ouble  not  to  break  down. 

The  hours  spent  there  would  have  been  mora 
tedious  but  for  Jacques'  unceasing  lively  talk.  It 
was  a  relief  to  every  one  to  smile  at  his  playful  sal- 
lies. His  vanity,  which  had  suffered  from  Deniee's 
refusal,  was  soothed,  bis  prospects  for  the  eleciion 
as  good  as  sure.  Madame  Lescalle  not  so  bad  after 
all,  Uiough  she  was  very  vulgar,  and  Rose,  as  sister- 
in  law,  not  to  be  at  all  ashamed  of.  So  he  was 
really  in  very  high  spirits,  and  showed  off  to  great 
advantage. 

The  De  V^delles  were  in  admiration  of  Mis6 
M^d^'s  house,  of  her  picturesque  garden,  of  the 
lovely  view, 

"  How  I  wish  my  sister  had  been  here,"  M.  Tjes- 
callc  said^  "  to  do  herself  the  honors  of  her  dear 
Oapucins  \ " 

This  wish  v/as  too  much  for  Rose  to  hear  un- 
moved. She  rushed  out  of  the  drawing-room  upon 
the  (errace  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  and  talk  to  your  wife  a  little, 
M.  le  Baron/'  Madame  Lescalle  said  to  George, 
who  was  turning  over  Mise  Med6's  books.  "  You 
ought  to  make  yourself  agreeable  to  her,  and  pay 
her  a  fc  w  complimer.ts.  Young  ladies  liko  that 
aort  of  thing,  you  *now." 

George  took  ko  no; ice  of  the  suggestion,  but 
when  Madame  Lescalle  was  called  away  by  her  hus- 
band   to   discuss  some  question  relative  to  the 


"fr^S?^ 


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1 

.  \ 


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The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


umoanfc  of  furniture  at  BilbouEfquet  he  rose,  ^venfc 
oiiL  on  the  terrace,  and  slowly  walked  to  the  place 
where  Rose  was  sitting.  She  did  not  notice  his 
approach  iHl  ho  was  close  to  her.  When  she 
looked  up  and  saw  liim  her  countenance  changed, 
^he  started  back  with  un  cxpi-ession  of  intense  fear 
and  aversion.  Ho  saw  ir,  fixed  his  eyes  on  her  for  a 
moment,  and  (hen  turned  away  in  silence.  Shortly 
afterwards  the  party  broke  up. 

As  they  were  standing  at  the  door  Madame  Les- 
calle  called  her  daughter  '*  Madame  la  Baronne," 
and  made  some  allusion  to  her  having  soon  a  car- 
riage of  her  own.  George  heard  her,  and  again  he 
smiled  in  the  same  faint  and  unconscious  manner 
as  he  had  done  when  his  father  had  explained  the 
connection  between  his  brother's  election  and  his 
own  marringe.  Rose,  who  had  not  heard  what  her 
mother  ^a.d  said,  noticed  that  strange,  and  to  her 
unmeaning,  smile,  un<l  her  heart  sank  within  her. 
As  the  carriage  drove  off  she  murmured  to  hcself, 
**  Married  !  and  to  whom  ?" 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


MISS   ME'JES   RETURN. 


Ok  the  following  day,  at  about  eight  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  Mi.e  Metiers  little  conveyance,  drawn 
by  the  tir«d  Blanquette,  stopped  at  the  door  of  the 
Capncins.  The  good  old  lady  deposited  at  home 
her  i  lall  amount  of  luggage,  and  then  wi-h  a 
brisk  sttp,  wonderful  in  a  person  of  seventy  years  of 
age,  walked  to  La  Ciotat. 

As  she  crossed  the  Place  de  FEglise  Mise  Med  6 
saw  two  boys  carrying  green  branches  into  the 
church  through  the  back  door,  and  others  spread- 
ing fine  sand  on  the  steps  of  the  front  entrance. 

"Is  it  for  the  marriage  of  Mise  Rose,  my  chil- 
dren, that  you  aro  dois  g  that  ?"  she  said. 

"Yes,  Mis^M6d6." 

"  This  is  a  happy  day  for  me,  my  dears,  bay  a 
prayer  for  my  darling  niece,  that  she  may  be 
always  good  and  happy." 

"Do  not  be  afraid,  Mise,  we  won*t  forget  lo 
pray  at  Mass  for  Mise  Rose.  She  is  such  a  good 
young  lady,  almost  as  good  as  you,  Mis6." 

Aunt  Med^  smiled  kindly  on  the  boys,  and 
walked  fast  down  the  Rue  Droite,  and  in  two  mi- 
nutes more  reached  her  nephew's  house. 

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The  Notary s  Daughter. 


Madame  Lescalle'p  maids  were  busily  engaged  in 
getting  the  rooms  ready  for  the  important  occa- 
sion. All  the  doors  and  windows  were  open,  the 
covers  of  the  old-fashioned  chairs  and  sofas  were 
taken  off  for  the  first  time  for  several  years,  and 
exhibited  in  the  rays  of  the  morning  sun  thp\ 
fadid  colors  and  worn-out  magnificence. 

"Is  my  niece  up-stairs?'  Miso  M6de  asked  of 
the  oldest  of  the  servants,  who  was  directing  the 
proceedings  of  her  subordinates. 

'Oh  !  dear,  no,  Mig6  ;  madame  went  tliis  morn- 
ing at  break  of  day  to  Belbousqnet,  where  Mis6 
Rose  is  going  to  stay  with  her  liusband.  L:ist 
night  madame  sen^  come  furniture,  and  now  she 
has  g  >nc  off  there  with  linen  and  a  lot  of  things." 

"Then  the  young  people  are  not  going  to  La 
Pinede  'i  " 

''They  were  going  there,  but,  as  ill-luck  would 
have  it,  Babc:te,  the  under-housemaid  at  the  cha- 
teau, is  iU  of  something  catching,  and  everything  ia 
in  confusion." 

"  Where  is  Rose  ?  " 

"She  has  not  left  her  room  yet,  the  poor  dear 
child  ;  I  suppose  she  is  still  asleep." 

"I  shall  go  and  see,"  Mise  Mede  said,  and, 
scrambling  over  a  pile  of  cushions  and  a  barricade 
of  footstools,  the  dear  old  lady  rushed  up  the  stairs, 
delighted  at  the  ido^  that  she  would  find  Rose 
asleep,  and  that  when  her  darling  opened  her  eyes 
she  would  see  her  loving  aunt  watching  the 
moment  of  her  waking,  and  ready  to  give  her  the 
first  kiss. 


The  Notary s  Daughter, 


189 


Rose's  room  was  between  ber  motljer  8  bed- room 
and  one  in  which  M.  Lescallc  kept  his  papers  and 
Madame  Lascaile  her  pears,  licr  quinces,  and  her 
winter  grapes.  This  receptacle  of  documents  and 
provisions  Mise  M^d6  passed  through,  and  opened 
the  door  of  Rose's  room.  Struck  with  painful 
surprise,  she  stood  on  the  threshold  dismayed  and 
astonished  at  the  sight  which  met  hi  r  eyes ;  such 
a  diffci-ent  one  to  what  she  had  expected, 

Rose's  room,  which  was  wont  to  bo  always  tidy  and 
nicely  arranged,  was  all  in  disorder.  Portions  of  a 
magnificent  trousseau  covered  the  chairs  and  part 
of  the  floor,  lace  and  ribbons  and  embroidered 
dresses  were  lying  about  in  a  strange  state  of  con- 
fusion. 

A  Icrge  open  drawer,  where  Rose  kept  her  clothes 
carefully  folded  up,  contained  all  the  modest  little 
wardrobe  of  her  school-days.  By  the  side  of  the 
coarse  linen  and  plain  frocks  and  collars  of  this 
scanty  trotissean  were  lying  books  with  worn  out 
covers  and  soiled  pieces  of  music,  also  some  of 
those  small  things  which  have  no  value  except  as 
souvenirs — a  little  faded  velvet  pocket-book  made 
by  a  favorite  companion,  the  blue  ribbons  attached 
to  the  wreath  won  at  the  last  distribution  of  prizes, 
a  little  image  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  enclosed  in  an 
ivory  case.  Two  cashmere  shawls  and  several 
pieces  of  silks  for  gowns  covered  the  bed  in  the 
corner  of  the  room.  But  it  was  evident  that  it  had 
not  been  slept  in. 

Rose  was  indeed  asleep  when  Mise  Med 6  opened 
the  door,  but  not  in  her  bed.     She  was  half  kneel- 


'  ''''1! 

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190 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


ipg  and  half  sitting  on  the  step  of  a  wooden  prie- 
dieu,  still  holding  in  her  hand  her  little  rosary. 
Her  other  arm  was  resting  on  a  chair  covered 
with  lace  and  embroidered  pocket  handkerchiefs. 
Sleep  had  surprised  Ijer  in  this  afctiiude,  her  head 
was  lying  on  her  arm  and  her  thick  and  beautiful 
hair  covering  a  part  of  her  face  aud  of  her  white 
dressing-gown.  She  was  dozing  in  that  uncom- 
fortable position,  hkc  a  child  fallen  asleep  in  the 
midst  of  its  tears ;  sobs  now  and  again  heaved  her 
breas^  She  looked  suc.i  a  picture  cf  loveliness 
and  grief  that  even  a  stranger  would  have  been 
touched  at  the  sight  of  that  fair  young  creature,  in 
the  height  of  her  beauty  and  her  youth,  thus  weigh- 
ed down  by  grief.  Wiiatmusfc  that  sight  have  been 
to  Aunt  Mede  ! 

Sho  went  up  to  the  young  girl  and  tried  gently 
to  raise  her  up  and  lay  her  on  her  bed.  Rose 
awoke,  opened  her  large  blue  eyes,  swelled  with 
cryir.g,  and  when  she  saw  her  aunt  started  up  and 
threw  herself  into  htr  arms  with  a  sort  of  half-lov- 
ing, hi^r -despairing  embrace. 

"What  is  the  matter,  my  Rosette?"  the  g  od 
old  lady  said.  "What  makes  you  weep  so,  my 
child  ?  " 

"  0  Aunt  Mede,  Aunt  M6de  !  '*  Rose  exclaimed, 
struggling  v.ith  her  sobs. 

"  But  what  has  happened,  my  darling  ?  Is  your 
marriage  broken  ofE  ?" 

*'0h  !  no,  no;  would  to  God  it  was  I  It  took 
place  yesterday." 

"  Yesterday  ?  " 


It 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


tt 


191 

,        ^  Yes  jesterd^y.     OU  1  i  t  i,  dreadful." 

rfariin!  V"""^ ;,'"^«''«t'»°'i  wbat  you  mean,  my 
rf^]  ng.  I  passed  before  the  church  just  aow  and 
sav7  the  preparations  going  on." 

vp1°^  ■'  ^^''  ,"'  ""  ''""^''  5  "^"t  I  "as  married 

wliy   did  you    not    come    back   sooner.?     1   bad 
begge^i  you  so  hard  in  my  letter  to  come  buck." 

n  jouHetter  ?    Ine.er  had  a  letter  from  you. 
«>i7ch,U.     Wimtdilyoueayiuit?"  '^     ' 

"I  said  all   I  could,  Annt  M«d«.     I  implored 
youtocomeandhelp  me-tosa.e  me;  nowS  £ 
^te-     Oh  .  dear,  oh  I  dear.  I  am  so  wret-jhed ."  and 
Boso  ,vei,t  as  if  her  heart  would  break 
Mis6  Mede  feh  more  and  more  perplexed. 
^^  0,d  you  cry  like  this  yesterday,  my  darling  ?" 
Ao  yesterday  pride  gave  me  a  sort  of  conr,.ffe 
I  would  not  let  people  aee  how  unhappy  I    v^  ' 

?orTtrt  '""  "rr"-'  t'-y  would'aj  I  car  d 
for  M  Artemon,  and  I  could  not  bear  that  auvono 
should  ,h,nk  .0  for  I  did  not  at  all  wish  to  nCly 

mght  that  al  my  grief  returned.  I  spent  a  part 
of  then.ght  ,n  arranging  my  things.     It  seemed 

ironshf'Tn  ^  '^'-  ':  "'^  ''■'"  "^  ■>  g^'-'-  T"'« 
anHl  fl,  T^  """^  "^  ''W^  school-days, 
and  all  the  plans  and  hopes  I  had  about  the  fu- 

delrthfldl'^  '°"  "'  '"'""  "P"^"'  '"  "^  '■'  y-' 
0  my  dear  aunt  I  now  you  know  my  fate  is 


1   .■ 


mmm^. 


192  T/te  Notary  s  Daughter, 

fixed,  I  can  neyer  louk  to  being  bappy  any  more. 
This  made  me  cry  so  muc'i  that  I  thought  my  eyes 
would  be  blinded  by  bo  many  tears.  How  odd  it 
is,  dear  aunt,  that  one  is  able  to  shed  bo  many 

tears  1 " 

*'  Poor  child  ! "  Mise  Mecl6  said.  '*  At  your  age 
tears  flow  easily  and  plentifully,  the  fount  is  not 
dried  up.  La^.er  in  life  we  suffer  more,  but  we  do 
not  weep  so  much." 

''  Then  at  last  I  had  a  gr)od  thought,  I  tried  to 
pray.  I  prayed  very  earnestly,  and  1  tbink  God 
heard  me  and  had  pity  upon  me,  for  ho  made  me 
fall  asleep.  Just  now  when  I  awoke  and  saw  you 
I  thought  for  an  instant  that  my  marriage  was 
only  a  bad  dream.  But  now  it  all  comes  back  upon 
me,  and  1  know  it  is  irrevocable.  I  can  neyer, 
never  be  bappy  again." 

Miso  MeJo  had  not  interrupted  Rose,  in  hopes 
that  she  would  say  something  that  would  account 
for  her  sorrow  and  despair.  But  when  her  niece 
left  off  speaking  she  was  as  puzzled  as  ever  as  to  the 
cause  of  all  tins  misery,  and  said  with  a  sigh  : 

♦'  Dear  me,  my  child,  what  a  disappointment  this 
is.     I  thought  you  liked  M.  do  Vedelles." 
*'  0  Aunt  Metle  !    I  hate  him." 
"  But  what  has  he  done,  my  child,  to  make  you 

hate  him  ?  "  ^^ 

"  I  feel  an  aversion  to  him,  and  a  sort  of  fear. 
"  How  very  strange  I    You  praised  him  so  much 

that  first  day  when  you  had  seen  him  at  La  Pi- 

n6de." 

"I  praise   him  I    No;  on  the  contrary ;  when- 


Tlu  Notary's  Daughter. 


193 


ever  I  have  seen  him  I  was  s'ruck  witli  his  gloomy, 
unpleasant  countenance.*' 

**  Indeed  !  Yom*  mot  -cr  said  M.  Jacques  was  so 
pleasing." 

"  Good  heavens  !  *'  Rose  exclaimed,  *•  whom  are 
you  talking  of.  Aunt  Mede?  Don't  you  know  it  is  M. 
George  I  have  mumed — the  other  one — \X\q  fadaf^ 

Miso  Mode  was  thupdcrsl^ruck.  M.  Loacalle'd 
ingenious  contrivances  had  completely  succceJcd. 
The  idea  that  Rose  was  to  be  married  to  George  do 
Vedelles,  to  that  strange,  helpless,  stupid  young 
man,  whom  she  had  never  heard  mentioned  but 
with  a  smile  of  pity,  had  never  even  entered  her 
head.  After  the  first  moment  of  painful  astonish- 
ment this  sudden  information  produced  in  Mile. 
Lescalle  a  transport  of  impotu  us  indignation  and 
anger.  She  rose  without  uttering  a  word,  and 
walked  towards  the  dooi.  The  impulse  of  her 
heart  was  to  go  and  upbraid  her  nephew  with  the 
full  forco  of  her  indignant  and  outraged  feelings 
for  the  unjustifiable  manner  in  which  he  had  acted 
towards  his  daughter.  * 

But  long  habits  cf  self-control,  the  constant 
Eenyc  of  God's  presence  which  had  become  the  liabit 
of  her  soul,  the  diily  practlo  of  submitting  her 
every  thought,  word,  and  act  to  that  divine  Will 
which  \' as  the  rult?  of  her  life,  enabled  her  even 
amidst  the  tumultuous  impul  cs  of  aflection,  grief, 
and  indignation  which,  like  surging  waves,  rose 
in  her  Iieart  to  pause  and  ask  herself  what,  in  that 
terrible  moment,  was  her  duty  to  God  and  to  her 
wronged  and  beloved  child. 


i 


W|i   (1(1 

.Me 


it 


194 


Tke  Notary  s  Daughter. 


Her  souud  practical  spnse,  sustained  by  her  reli- 
gious principles,  enabled  her  to  see  afc  once  that, 
as  what  had  been  done  Tras  irreyocable — though  it 
might  relieve  her  bursting  heart  to  charge  Rose's 
parents  for  what  she  felt  to  be  a  sin,  though  they 
did  not  see  it  in  that  light — that  it  would  neither 
improve  the  position  uorassna^;©  the  sorrow  of  her 
injured  niece.  The  impulse  was  conquered.  The 
"anger,  which  like  a  lightning-flash  had  convulsed 
her  frame  and  blaiiched  her  c'leck,  was  subdued 
under  the  eye  of  Hii  ^  whom  in  that  hour  she  ardent- 
ly invoked,  and  then  she  set  hcrsc'lf  to  the  task 
which  she  knew  he  had  assigned  to  her — the  at- 
tempt to  soothe,  to  strengthen,  and  io  elevate  that 
despairing  young  heart,  so  rudely  dealt  with  by 
those  who  yet  loved  their  child  in  their  own  way. 

She  came  back  to  her  niece,  took  her  on  her 
knees  as  she  used  to  da  when  she  was  a  little  child, 
and,  kissing  that  sweet,  pale,  and  tearful  face,  she 
said  in  the  tenderest  and  most  earnest  manner  : 

"  My  own  Rose,  I  am  grieved  to  the  heart  now 
that  I  know  the  reason  of  your  sorrow.  I  suffer 
with  you,  my  darling,  and  I  lament  what  has  been 
done." 

**  Oh  I  Iknewjou  would,  dear,  good  aunt  that 
you  are.     Youy  at  least,  love  me." 

"Try  not  to  blame  your  parents,  my  child,  they 
fancied  they  were  acting  rightly  and  for  yowr  ad- 
vn,nta£,e,  only  they  do  not  understand  what  you 
and  I  mean  by  happiness.  The  whole  misfortune 
comes  from  that.  Now  the  thing  is  done,  and  I 
want  you,  my  darling,  to  listen  to  what  my  ear- 


_  xs^s^sm^sss^xtsismwismi^mmsi^^S: 


■'Mil 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


^95 


nest  aflfection   for  my  dear  child  wishes  to  make 
her  feel. 

"You  must  not  give  way,  my  own  Rose,  to  tliia 
sort  of  despair-  You  must  accept  your  fate  with 
courageous  resignation,  and  sec  if  it  is  not  possible 
to  look  ou  the  future  in  a  better  light.  You  have 
now  ceased  to  be  a  c  lild.  Yesterday's  ceremony 
made  you  a  wotnau,  and  you  must  try  to  be  a  good 
and  sensible  one.  Instead  cf  looking  back  with 
regret  and  despondency,  fix  your  eyes  dispassion- 
ately on  the  future.  Depend  upon  it,  Rose,  no 
one  who  has  duties  to  i^erform,  and  a  lovi-.g  heart, 
need  be  really  unhappy.  I  know  thit  at  your  age 
it  is  difficult  to  be  satisfied  with  but  a  tolerable 
sort  of  existence.  You  had  fancied  that  you  were 
to  be  one  lay  intensely  happy.  You  think  that 
this  can  never  now  be  tbo  case,  and  your  fate  seems 
to  you  a  very  hard  and  exiraordiuary  one.  Mj 
dear  child,  tjie  happiness  you  had  pictured  to  your- 
self is  of  very  rare  occurrence.  Tiiosc  who  have  a 
ttrong  power  of  loving  do  not  often  meet  with  a 
re! urn,  and  ic  is  perhaps  still  more  terrible  to  lose 
a  blessing  once  possessed  than  never  to  have  had  it. 
Many  and  many  women  have  seen  their  hopes  and 
their  joys  vanish  before  they  nad  scare,  ly  bee  a 
realized.  They  havfe  had  to  s;iy  to  themselves,  ^  It 
is  for  ever  at  an  end,  that  romantic  bUss  I  thought 
I  had  secured.'  They  have  felt  as  if  it  would  be 
impossible  to  live  without  it,  but  they  have  done 
without  it,  and  found  in  life  a  fair  share  of  happi- 
ness. There  are  in  your  destiny  some  compensa- 
tions." 


4 

t, 

'^^k 

^ 

; 

n 

i     ' 

> 

.»",'.•    -" 

■i 

1 

i  - 


The  Notary^s 


'*  You  are  not  going,  Aunfc  M6de,  to  speak  to  roe, 
like  mamma,  of  my  carriage  and  my  gowns?" 
Rose  bitterly  exclaimed,  spurning  with  her  little 
foot  the  lace  trimm  ngs  of  her  wedding-dress. 

"No,  my  c'iild  ;  wliut  I  allude  to  arc  hlglier  and 
better  consolations  than  those.  I  want  you  to 
think  of  the  duties  which  ilio  sacrament  of  mar- 
riage imposes  upon  Catholic  Christians,  and  the 
blessings  attached  to  it.  I  wi^h  you  to  reflect  upon 
th:3  particular  duties  you  are  called  upon  to  per- 
form. From  this  day  forward  an  important  task 
is  assig' ed  to  you,  young  as  yon  are,  and  a  great 
responsibility.  The  ordinary  course  of  things  is 
somewhat  reversed  in  your  case.  Instead  of  be- 
coming the  wife  of  a  man  who  could  guide  and  di- 
rect you,  it  is  you^  'ot  to  bo  married  to  one  whom 
you  will  have  to  w.i  ch  over,  to  lead,  (o  take  oare 
of.  My  c  ild,  there  is  something  sacred  in  such  a 
mission.  It  is  a  holy  duty  assigned  to  a  woman  to 
be  a  kind  of  guardian  angel  to  one  weaker  in  every 
respect  than  herself.  Yesterday  you  were  a  child,  a 
though  less  girl.  To-day  you  will  begin  to  bo  your 
husband's  protestor,  his  counsellor,  and  his  friend. 
You  will  be  to  him  what  his  mother  has  been.  You 
will  teach  him  how  sweet  it  is  to  bo  cared  for,  and 
to  care  for  others.  And;  who  knows,  his  heart  and 
Lis  mind  nujy  expand  in  the  genial  atmosphere  of 
domestic  happiness,  at  ;1  you  may  be  rewarded  by 
witncscing  a  great  cliange  in  Jiis  moral  and  mental 
state.  Love — he  love  which  springs  from  the 
highest  of  principles  and  tho  most  sacred  of  duties 
~-ira  great  worker  of  miracles  ;  but  in  any  oii.e 


mr¥'m 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


197 


"cBpIv"!  la  not  a  higher  or  a  swecster  mission  than  to 
bind  t!ie  wounds  of  the  heart.  Infinite  graces, 
heayenly  blessings  vdthout  number,  aescend  upon 
those  who  devote  themselves  to  this  task.  Believe 
me,  dearest  Hose,  those  who  mako  sacrifices  to 
duty,  who  accept  the  chalice  which  the  will  of  their 
Father  in  licaven  holds  to  t'^eir  lips,  and  carry 
their  cross  with  courage  after  their  sufferinpj  Lord, 
kiiow  deeper  and  truer  joys  than  those  of  selfish  or 
worldly  souls,  who  thnk  of  nothing  but  t'leir  own 
enjoyments/' 

Seeing  that  Rose  was  listening  to  her  attentively, 
Mis6  Mode's  hopes  increased  of  finding  in  her  nieco 
cipabilities  for  the  sort  of  heroic  virtue  which  alono 
can  stimulate  the  s.ul  to  look  upon  life  and  its 
(rials  in  a  supernutural  point  of  yiew,  and  lift  it  up 
hi^^h  enough  to  accept,  ahnosfc  with  joy,  an  excep- 
tional destiny.  Encouraged  by  this  hope,  she  be- 
came eloquent,  as  people  always  are  when  inti- 
mately pvi'suaded  of  a  truth  themselves  and  ar- 
den  ly  desirous  to  im;>art  to  others  a  holy  entnusi- 
asm  i  k  the  right  direction. 

She  lid  not  even  allude  to  tiie  sorry  advantages  of 
fortune  and  lank,  but  continued  to  touch  the  chord 
which  had  found  an  echo  in  the  heart  of  the  young 
bride. 

It  is  wonderful  how  some  natures  find  lief  in 
the  midst  of  veiy  s'xvere  trials  by  a  view  placed  be- 
fore thcui  of  their  own  position  in  a  light  which 
had  never  struck  them,  and  which  responds  (0 
their  intuitive  and  undeveloped  aspirations. 

Aftor   two  hours'  conversation    with  her  aunt 


t 

't 

St 

4: 

:^Mi^\ 


198 


The  Notary's  Daughter^ 


Bose  was  no  longer  liko  the  same  person,  and  when 
Madame  Lsscalle  arrived,  and  came  into  her  room 
to  superintend  her  dan^'htei's  toilet,  she  was  imme- 
diately surprised  at  the  change  in  her  countenance. 
She  looked  serene  and  calm,  and  there  were  no 
tears  in  her  eyes. 

**  Dear  me,  Rosette,"  she  said,  quite  pleased, 
**how  much  more  cheerful  you  look  I  Oh  I  I  l.avo 
always  said  that  M.  le  Mai  re  has  a  gift  for  chang- 
ing the  mood  of  re  mantic  young  ladits." 

"No,  dear  mamma;  it  is  not  M.  le  Maire  who 
has  this  gift,  but  my  Aunt  M6de  possesses  it.  She 
has  said  to  me  things  this  morning  which  have 
strengthened  and  enc  mraged  me." 

"  Oh  !  true.  There  }ou  are.  Aunt  Mede,  ar- 
rived just  in  lime.  I  did  not  see  you  at  first.  Y-u 
must  excuse  me,  I  am  so  flurried.  You  sec  I  liad 
to  go  to  Belbousquet  early  this  morning.  Every- 
thing was  to  bo  ready  by  this  afternoon,  you  know. 
Oh  I  dear,  atid  now  that  I  think  of  it  I  forgv^t  tho 
crockery.  There  is  not  half  enough  at  the  pa- 
vilion. What  can  be  done  ?  How  will  the  poor 
children  manage  ?  " 

"I  can  send  some,"  Mise  Mede  uns  veied,  "  and 
everything  else  that  may  bo  wanted." 

•'That  is  indeed  kind  of  you,  Aunt  Med6.  I 
dare  say  I  have  forgotten  a  great  many  things. 
On  s^uch  a  day  as  this  one  is  apt  to  lose  cne^s  head." 

**  I  am  afraid,  my  dear  Virginie,  that  you  and 
your  husband  have  strangely  lost  your  heads  sinco 
I  went  away,"  Mise  Mede  said  in  a  grave  and  sor- 
rowful   manner;    and  taking  advantage  of   Rose 


The  Notary s  Daughter. 


199 


having  been  taken  possession  of  by  Th6reson  and 
seated  before  the  glass  in  another  part  of  the  room, 
she  added  :  "  My  advice  has  not  been  asked,  nor  my 
wishes  consulted.  Whrvt  is  done  is  of  course  ir- 
revocable, and  therefore  reproaches  wonld  be 
superfluous.  But,"  she  continued,  with  two  tears 
rolling  slowly  down  her  wrinkled  cheeks,  **it  wll 
be  no  easy  task,  I  can  tell  you,  to  reconcile  this 
dear  child  to  her  lot.  You  have  very  hastii;^  dis- 
poser" of  the  destiny  of  such  a  charming  girl. 
Kose  is  affectionate  and  not  vain.  It  would  have 
been  far  better  to  have  given  her  to  a  low-born 
but  honest  and  loving  husband  than  to  your 
melancholy  and  morose  baron." 

Madame  Loscalle  littened  in  silence  to  Aunt 
Mede's  observations,  and  not  feeling  able  to  reply 
to  them,  she  thought  the  best  thing  to  do  was  to 
break  off  the  conversation.  Glancing  at  the  clock, 
she  exclaimed,  with  affected  surprise  : 

"  Good  heavens  !  how  late  it  is.  We  have  very 
little  time  left.  Ought  you  not  to  go  home  and  dress, 
AnutMedo?" 

"  Mv  toilette  will  not  take  much  time.  You 
need  not  be  anxious  about  it,  my  niece.  At  what 
hour  do  we  go  to  church  ?" 

"At  eleven." 

"  I  shall  be  in  time,"  and  then  Mise  Med6  kissed 
Sose,  and  with  a  look  which  conveyed  all  the  love 
am'  all  the  encouragement  which  a  look  can  con- 
vey, sli3  departed. 

With  heavy  and  lingering  steps  sh^  walked  ahmg 
the  road  »he  had  so  briskly  and  rapidly  trod  tuat  very 


'  \ 

-- 

n 

200 


T/te  Notary s  Daughter, 


morning.  The  weight  of  her  age  ^eenied  doubled 
by  a  load  of  grief  which  put  to  the  severest  test 
her  strength  of  soul  and  Christian  resignation. 

Ateleven  the  relatives  and  friends  of  the  family  as- 
sembled in  the  notary's  drawing-room,  and  tlien  pro, 
ceeded  to  the  church.  Everything  went  off  very  well. 
Those  who  had  flocked  there  in  hopes  of  witness- 
ing something  out  of  the  common  way  were  dis- 
appointed. George  1  loked,  as  usual,  very  pale, 
but  was  perfectly  calm.  Rose  was  quite  composed, 
and  did  net  at  all  look  like  a  girl  married  against 
her  will. 

The  Richer  family,  who  had  gone  to  the  church 
rather  expecting  a  scene,  even  perhaps  that  the 
bride  would  faint,  coiild  not  report  any  particular 
appearance  of  emotion  to  Artemon.  He  was 
rather  affronted  that  what  h§**called  "  the  execu- 
tion "  had  passed  off  so  quietly. 

"  After  all,"  he  said,  '*  the  girl  is  only  a  preity 
doll,  at  this  moment  under  the  delightful  influence 
of  cashmeres  and  trinkets.  We  shall  see  how  long 
this  resignation  will  last.'*  And  then  he  walked 
off  to  the  Estaminet  de  la  Marine,  and  played  a 
pool  at  billiards. 

Three  persons  had  been  praying  very  hard  dur- 
ing the  cercmoiy — Mise  Mede,  who  continued  to 
command  her  feelings  lili  it  was  over,  but  who 
afterwards  nearly  fainted  away  in  the  sacristy, 
Madame  de  VedclleH,  who,  in  spite  of  the  smooth- 
ness with  which  everything  had  gone  on,  felt 
anxious  misgivings  as  to  the  future,  and  poor  old 
Vincent,  who  bad  never  been  able  to  make  up  his 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


201 


mind  to  wjsh  his  young  master  j  .y  of  his  marriage, 
partly  because  he  had  been  looking  as  sad,  if  not 
sadder,  than  usual  since  is  had  been  announced, 
and  partly  because  he  disapproved  of  what  he  con- 
sidered a  mesalliance,  and  thought  it  a  great  shame 
to  have  married  Baron  George  to  the  daughter  of  a 
notary  m  a  wretched  little  provincial  town. 

He  had  declared  that  his  old  legs  would  not 
carrv  him  to  the  church  that  morning,  and  de- 
cUneo  (he  off  r  of  a  seat  in  M.  de  V^delles'  second 
carriage.  But  still,  after  all,  Vincent  was  there, 
his  gray  head  bowed  down  in  prayer  during  the 
service,  and  when  the  young  people  drove  away 
after  the  marriage  breakfast  his  eyes  followed  tho 
caUche  as  it  went  down  the  Rue  Droite.  With  a 
thoughtful  expression,  and  with  his  hands  behind 
his  back,  he  walked  back  to  La  Pin^de,  whence  the 
count,  the  coumess,  and  Jacques  departed  that 
evening  for  Paris, 


.  JJ 


iSsil 

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m 

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1 

U   ,i"i 


^m^ 


i^m^ 


'M^-3)m^, 


CHAPTER  XV. 


BELBOUSQUET. 


Belbousquet  would  hnve  been  the  beau-ideal  of 
a  place  for  a  happy  honeymoon.  The  little  yilla 
was  siiuated  amidst  the  hills,  in  a  most  beautiful 
position.  In  M.  Lescalle's  bachelor  days  it  had 
been — during  the  holidays — a  resort  for  himself 
and  his  friends.  Many  a  jovial  and  rather  riotous 
party  had  made  it  a  scene  of  festivity.  But  when 
be  married  th3  shooting-lodge  was  turned  iuto  a 
country-house,  ard  he  had  intended  to  spend  there 
part  of  the  summers,  buc  Madame  Lescalle  would 
not  hear  of  it.  She  declared  that  nothing 
would  induce  her  to  inhabit  such  a  desert  and 
seclude  herself  from  the  social  resources  of  La 
Oiotat.  Every  year  she  came  there  for  one  week, 
in  order  to  superintend  the  vintage  and  the  gather- 
ing in  the  olives,  ai^d  thought  tlioso  days  the  most 
tedious  of  the  whole  year. 

Like  many  women  accustomed  to  the  narrow 
atmosphere  of  a  small  provincial  town,  Madame 
Lescalle  hated  the  country.  Nature  had  no  charms 
whatever  for  her.  At  La  Ciotat  her  house  had  a 
rather  large  garden,  but  she  never  set  her  foot  in 
it.    Two  dozen  hens,  old  Th6r6son's  special  favor- 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


203 


iteE,  took  posBossion  of  it,  and  the  maids,  oa  wash- 
iug  daj8,  used  it  as  a  drying-yard, 

Madame  Lescallo  piqued  herself  on  being  an  ex- 
cellent housekeeper,  and  had  no  idea  of  losing  her 
time  in  taking  walks.  It  was  quite  exercise  enough 
for  her  to  worry  her  servants,  and  ascend  and  de- 
scend ihirty  times  a  dny  tlie  stairs  which  led  from 
her  drawing-room  to  her  kitchen.  On  Sundays 
she  almost  always  walkei  for  half  an  hour  on  the 
Tasse,  not  indeed  to  enjoy  the  magnificent  view  of 
the  sea,  but  to  meet  people,  which  meant  from 
twenty  to  thirty  persons  whose  faces,  and,  generally 
speaking,  their  gowns,  were  familiar  to  Ler.  These 
acquaintances  met,  bowed,  or  conversed  on  the 
event  of  the  week,  whatever  it  happened  to  be. 

As  to  the  young  people  who  were  now  going  to 
stay  at  Belbousquet,  neither  of  tlem  had  objected 
to  tho  proposed  arrangement.  In  George's  state 
of  mind  he  would  have  acquiesced  in  anything 
which  saved  him  the  trouble  of  a  discussion,  and 
Rose  rather  preferred  to  be  out  of  the  way  of  her 
mother's  gossipping  friends, 

Belbousquet  owed  its  name  to  a  grove  of  ilexes, 
planes,  and  beam -trees,  kept  constantly  green  and 
cool  by  a  pretty  stream  of  very  clear  water  which 
flowed  from  a  rock  at  the  top  of  the  hill.  All  sorts 
of  gay  plants  and  flowering  shrubs  lined  its  banks 
instead  of  the  dusty  hollies  and  stunted  pines 
which  generally  grow  on  the  hills  of  Provence. 
The  house  was  small,  fiat-roofed,  and  covered  with 
red,  rounded  tiles.  The  shutterless  windows  were 
protected  from  the  sun  by  white  linen  awnings. 


'& 

■  \ 

■J  ^ 

-6 

204 


The  Notary  5  Daughter, 


Those  of  the  ground  floor  opened  on  a  verandah, 
around  the  pillars  of  which  a  magnificent  vine  en- 
twined its  boughs  and  rich  foliage.  That  red  roof, 
those  white  awnings,  and  that  festooning  vine  gave 
to  this  little  abode  the  appearance  of  a  tiny  Italian 
villa. 

For  many  years  its  only  inhabitant  had  been  an 
old  and  very  intelh'gent  gardener,  who  had  at  last 
arrived  at  thinking  himself  sole  master  of  the 
place.  This  feeling  led  him  to  tuke  more  pains  in 
improving  the  garden  than  if  he  had  been  under 
the  impression  that  he  was  working  for  other  peo- 
ple. Thanks  to  the  brook,  he  lad  euceeeded  in 
surrounding  the  grounds  with  tl  ose  shady  covered 
green  walks  which  are  called  cJiarmilles  in  France, 
taises  in  Provence,  pleached  bowers  in  Shakspere's 
plays,  charming  retreats  which  attract  imprudent 
birds,  and  leave  them  ut  the  mercy  of  Provenyal 
ahooters.  But  the  winged  denizens  of  the  taises 
of  Belbousquet  had  nothing  of  the  kind  to  fear, 
and  in  the  spring  their  concerts  were  so  sweet  and 
}oud  that  it  was  quite  a  pity  that  they  should  have 
been  so  long  wasted  on  the  desert  air,  or  i\\% 
equally  insensible  ears  of  old  Simon. 

One  day  Madame  Lescalle  took  it  into  her  head 
that  the  grass  on  the  hill  of  Belbousquet  could 
very  well  feed  half  a  dozen  gouts,  and  that  their 
milk  and  cheese  would  be  profitable  to  her  menage. 
So  she  bought  the  fcix  goa;s,  sent  them  to  her 
country  louse,  and  desired  Simon  to  look  after  the 
said  animals  and  make  the  most  ol  them.  This 
did  not  at  all  suit  the  old  man.     He  uttered  such 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


205 


loud  and  incessant  complaints  that  lie  bored  liis 
mistress  into  allowing  him  four  francs  a  month  to 
pay  a  girl  to  attend  to  them.  Even  this  was  not 
easily  managed,  for  the  wages  seemed  scanty 
enough  even  at  La  Ciotat.  For  some  weeks  Mas-' 
ter  Simon  was  obliged  to  take  caro  of  the  goa(s 
himself,  and  he  '~o  earnestly  set  about  it  by  kick- 
ing and  ill-using  them  that  the  poor  beasts  would 
Eoon  have  given  him  no  further  trouble  if  xi  woman 
from  Cereste  had  not  brought  one  day  io  Belbous- 
quet  a  candidate  for  the  situation.  Tliis  individ- 
ual was  a  little  girl  between  eleven  and  twelve 
called  Ben6ite,  who  had  never  done  anything  in 
her  life  but  look  after  goats.  Old  Simon  engaged 
her  at  once. 

Lirtle  Bondite  was  as  wild,  as  simple,  and  as 
livc'y  as  her  own  goats.  From  the  age  of  three  or 
four  she  had  lived  in  soUtude  in  the  mountains, 
and  cared  only  for  the  sky,  for  the  clouds,  for  the 
brook,  and  the  wild  flowers.  She  loved  the  birds 
that  she  had  tauglit  to  feed  out  of  her  hand,  and 
the  iupects  that  buzzed  over  the  wild  thyme,  and 
the  squirrels  that  jumped  from  one  branch  to  an- 
other ;  but  as  to  people,  she  knew  as  little  of 
them  as  i>ossible,  and  was  the  most  untaught, 
strangest,  and  yet  cleverest  little  creature  imagin- 
able. As  ehy  as  a  fawn,  afraid  of  nothing  iu  the 
mountains,  she  did  not  mind  sleeping  on  beds  of 
leaves  and  spending  the  night  sometimes  in  caves 
on  the  hill-side  quite  alone,  but  not  for  the  world 
would  she  have  vcutuiod  on  the  Jiigh  road  or  into 
Lh  Oiotat 


1     1 


:..?«iiiio^ 


206 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


The  old  gardener  and  the  little  saTage  got  on 
irell  together,  but  scarcely  exchaoged  ten  words  in 
the  course  of  a  week.  He  used  to  get  up  at  break 
of  day,  but  cTen  before  he  appeared  in  the  garden 
Ben5ite  and  her  goats  were  off  to  tbe  mountains. 
And  at  night  both  were  so  tired  that  they  hastened 
to  retire,  he  to  his  little  room  hung  round  with 
garlaude  of  onions,  and  she  to  her  bed  of  dry  leaves 
in  the  garret. 

To  supply  for  the  deficienc'es  of  this  very  primi- 
tive houselic  Id,  the  active  Ther^son  had  volunteered 
to  accompany  the  newly-mamed  pair  and  bury 
licrcelE  in  that  solitude.  Having  been  in  the  bouse 
before  Rose's  birth,  she  folt  herself  called  upon, 
she  said,  to  give  her  this  proof  of  attachment. 

Very  few  words  had  been  spoken  by  George  and 
Kose  as  they  drove  from  La  Ciotat  to  Belbousquet. 
He  had  asked  one  or  two  questions  as  to  the  en- 
virons of  the  villa,  and  remarked  on  the  beauty  of 
the  country.  She  had  spoken  of  the  fineni  ss  of 
the  day,  and  mentioned  the  names  of  some  of  the 
villages  they  passed  through. 

When  they  arrived  at  Belbousquet  she  went  in- 
to the  little  drawing-room,  and  he  followed  her. 
She  seated  herself  at  the  window  and  looked  at 
the  flower-beds.  He  stood  for  a  moment  before 
the  chimney,  filled  with  evergreens,  aiid  then,  going 
up  to  Rose,  gave  her  a  letter  addr«^ssed  to  Madar  ^ 
laBaronne  George  de  Vedelles,  and  then  went  out 
of  the  house  and  walked  up  the  little  path  skirling 
the  brook. 

Rose  felt  strangely  surprised  at  his  writii  g  her  a 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


207 


letter.  What  could  be  its  contents,  its  purport  ? 
She  looked  at  the  handwriting.  It  was  firm  and 
distinct,  nothing  childish  or  uncertain  about  it. 
She  was  almost  afraid  of  opening  it,  though  she 
longed  to  do  so.  Perhaps  it  was  a  bit  of  nonsense, 
a  hoax,  or  perhaps  it  was  not  from  him.  His 
mother  had,  may  be,  written  to  her  eome  advice  or 
some  kind  words,  and  intrusted  him  with  the 
letter.  At  last  she  unsealed  the  envelope  and 
read  as  follows : 

"  Wc  have  been  united  by  the  will  of  our  parents. 
It  i3  not  our  business  to  question  the  wisdom  of 
their  acts.  I  fancy  that  on  both  sides  the  object 
in  view  has  been  attained — my  brother  will  be  a 
deputy,  and  you  are  Madame  la  Baronno  de  V6- 
dclles,  with  all  the  advantages,  whatever  thdy  cray 
be,  that  this  title  secures. 

"Two  days  ago  I  expected  that  our  lives  would 
be  spent  much  in  the  same  way  that  many  other  peo- 
ple spend  theirs  whoso  destiny  has  not  been  left  to 
their  own  choice.  I  was  prepared  to  find  in  you  all 
the  good  and  amiable  qualities  which  you  are  said  to 
possess,  and  which  I  am  convinced  you  do  possess, 
and  I  fully  intended  to  try  and  make  you  as  happy 
as  under  the  circumstances  it  was  possible  for  yon 
to  be.  My  own  faults  and  deficiencies,  which  I  am 
but  too  conscious  of,  I  hoped  to  make  up  for  by 
kindness  and  constant  attention  to  your  wishes. 
These  were  my  thoughts  and  ideas  when  I  left 
the  Maiiie,  where  we  had  been  irrevocably  united 
in  the  eyes  of  the  law,  and  such  they  remained 
until  a  moment  which  you  must    omember,  one 


t 


I 


^ 

I 

I 


208 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


which  decided  our  whole  future.  You  had  left  the 
drawing-rocm  at  Lcs  Capucins  in  tears,  and  I  saw 
you  sitting  alone  on  the  terrace  in  an  attitude  of 
great  desponder.cy.  Affcr  some  hesitation  I  fol- 
lowed you.  Your  preoccupaiion  was  so  great  that 
you  did  not  notice  my  approach  till  I  came  near 
you.  You  turned  round,  and  then  in  your  young 
face  T  perceived  sucli  unmistakable  tokens  of  fear, 
aversion,  and  Ox  contempt  that  I  saw  at  onco  that 
you  loathed  the  very  sight  of  me.  I  can  never  for- 
get tliat  look.  From  that  moment  my  mind  was 
irrev'cably  made  up.  As  irrevocable  us  our  appa- 
rent union  is  my  determination  never  to  oblige 
you — nay,  never  to  suffer  you — to  consider  me  as 
your  husband,  save  in  exterior  appearance,  and 
that  only  for  a  short  time.  I  own  that  it  was 
almost  a  relief  to  me  when  vour  mother  more  than 
hinted,  at  a  subsequent  period  of  the  day,  that  my 
title  and  my  father's  liberality  compensated  for  my 
own  demerits.  I  felt  that  I  could  leave  you  for 
ever  to  enjoy  those  advantages,  unburthened  with 
the  presence  and  society  of  one  whom  you  hate  and 
despise. 

"  I  suppose  you  will  agree  with  me  that  in  order  to 
spare  tbe  feelings  of  our  respective  families  and 
save  them  annoyance,  which  I  tliink  we  should 
both  wish  to  do,  however  mistaken  has  been  their 
line  of  conduct  in  our  regard,  it  will  be  desirable 
for  both  of  us  to  inhabit  this  house  for  a  short 
time,  but  I  solemnly  promise  tliat  1  shall  inflict  as 
little  of  my  society  ae  possible  on  you,  and  that 
?ery  booq  I  shall  take  my  departure  for  ever.    The 


ak£Bsii;t 


Tlie  Notary  s  Daughter, 


2og 


blame  of  the  separation  will  rest  with  me.  Once 
effected,  I  shall  communicate  my  decision  to  my 
father,  and  make  arrangements  to  settle  on  you 
two-tliirds  of  my  income  whilst  I  live  ;  your  jointure 
is  secured  by  our  marriage  settlement. 

**  Should  you  wish  me  to  go  away  at  once  T  am 
ready  to  do  so.  You  have  only  to  write  to  mo  a 
note  to  that  effect.  Tf  you  do  not  miie  I  shall 
conclude  tlrafc  you  assent  tc  my  reaiuining  here  a 
short  time,  on  as  distant  a  fooiiug  as  t  )e  most 
perfect  stranger.  I  earnestly  wish  I  con  Id  restore 
to  you  your  liberty,  but  as  that  is  not  in  my  power, 
I  earnestly  hope  that  you  may  find  happiness  in 
the  society  of  your  family  and  friends  and  the  inno- 
cent pleasures  of  the  world,  which  your  position 
will  enable  jou  to  ejjoy. 

** George  did  Vedelles.' 

Astonished  almost  to  bewilderment,  Roso  held 
this  letter  in  her  hand,  trying  to  underptand.  her 
own  feelings,  and  to  define  them.  OouM  the  per- 
son who  had  written  U  be  the  weak-headed  young 
man  wiiom  people  had  described  as  deficient  in  or- 
dinary capacity  and  unable  to  take  care  of  himself  ? 
What  was  she  to  think  of  his  determination  ?  Was 
it  a  right  or  a  wrong  one  ?  Ought  she  to  feel  glad 
or  sorry  ?  Was  it  a  great  relief  or  not  ?  Was  it 
true  that  she  had  shown  him  the  aversion  slie  f(;lt 
for  him  ?  She  questioned  her  conscience  and 
her  memory,  and  both  reminded  her  of  the  in- 
ward feeling  which  had,  it  seemed,  manifest*  d 
itself  so  visibly  and  so  offensively,  and,  as  he  said, 
decided  tbe  who)e  of  thtir  future  existence. 


mi 


I] 


210 


The  Notary  s  DaUghtsr, 


Had  this  announcement  been  made  io  lier  the 
day  before,  she  would  have  felt  indeed  startled  at 
the  idea  of  all  that  was  involved  in  it,  but  relief 
would  have  been  her  chief  sensation  ;  but  since 
her  conversation  that  morning  with  Aunt  Med 6  a 
change  had  co^ic  ove*  her  spirit."  She  had  enthusi- 
astically accepted  the  idea  of  saci ifico  and  self-devo- 
ticn  presented  to  her.  Sue  bad  dwe!t  on  the 
thought  of  beirg  a  guardian  angel,  and  it  was  a 
somewhat  abrupt  tranbiticn  (o  be  discarded  as  a 
worldly  creature,  who  had  married  for  the  sake  of 
position  and  fortune,  to  be  abandoned  by  the  per- 
son to  whom  she  had  meant  to  devote  herself. 
The  situation  was  altogether  changed.  Aunt  Med6's 
advice;. ad  exhortations  no  longer  apjilied,  and  Rose 
sat  with  her  head  leaning  on  her  liand,  feeling  as 
if  she  was  in  a  dream,  and  longing  to  awaken. 

**  Of  course,"  she  thought,  *'I  cannot  wri  e  and 
tell  him  to  go  away  ar.  once,  and  have  Ther6son 
sending  for  papa  and  mamma  and  throwing  every 
one  into  an  agitation,  I  never  can  ask  him  to 
change  his  mind  as  to  this  resolution,  he  speaks  so 
determinedly,  and  after  all  it  is  not  my  fault,  and 
in  some  ways  I  shall  be  much  happier  if  ho  does  go 
away  and  leave  me,  strange,  extraordinary  being 
that  be  is.  I  suppose  I  did  look  at  him  iu  a  way 
tbat  must  have  mude  a  man_very  angry  ;  somohow 
I  never  thought  he  would  perceive  or  feel  it.  And 
then  mamma  talking  in  that  way  to  him  1  One  th.iig 
I  know — I  will  not  have  any  of  his  money,  and  i 
wish  I  could  give  up  being  called  Madame  la  Ba- 
ronnc.     Perhaps  1  shall  write  to-morrow  to  Aunt 


The  Notary's  Dauber, 


211 


M6d6  and  ask  her  to  advise  me,  or  perhaps  I  shall 
put  It  off  for  two  or  tlirie  days  and  see  what  hap- 
pens." ^ 

Nothing  happened.  Ge)rge  went  out  with  his 
gun  early  in  the  morning,  and,  followed  by  his  dcg 
Wasp,  wandert^d  about  the  hills  and  woods  as  he 
used  to  do  at  La  Pinede.  Rose  sat  in  the  drawing- 
room  with  some  work  in  i)er  hands,  or  strolled  in 
the  garden  gatliering  flowers  which  she  afterwar  jg 
threw  away.  They  met  for  mealc,  and  then  said  a 
few  words  to  each  other  in  a  cold  and  constrained 
manner,  and  Rose  wondered  how  long  this  sort  of 
life  was  to  last,  and  whether  he  would  go  away 
without  giving  her  any  further  notice  of  his  depar- 
ture. Erery  morning  she  took  np  her  pen  to  write 
to  Aunt  Medo,  but  a  strange  nervousness  mada  her 
put  it  off  from  day  to  day. 

One  evening  she  met  George  coming  into  the  hall 
with  his  game-bag  in  his  hand,  which  seemed  quite 
full. 

"  You  have  been  successful  to-day,"  she  said, 
glancing  at  his  bag. 

**  No,"  he  answered,  "I  have  not  killed  anything 
to-day,"  and  then  went  U[)  the  stairs. 

"  Not  killed  anything,"  A\q  thought  to  herself, 
*'  and  what,  then,  I  wonder,  does  he  carry  in  that 
bag."  And  glancing  around  her  to  see  that  she  was 
alone,  she  peeped  into  it,  and  to  her  surprise  saw 
that,  instead  of  birds  and  rabbits,  it  contained 
books.  Hearing  footsteps  in  the  passage,  she  has- 
tily went  into  the  drawing-room,  but  not  before 
she  had  ascertained  that  one  of  those  books  was  a 


■I 


.J 


212 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


volume  of  Sliakspere's  plays  and  another  th« 
"Life  of  St.  Dominic,"  by  Lacordai'e. 

*•  What  did  it  uaean  ?  "  she  asked  horcclf.  "  Does 
he  read  during  those  long  hours  he  spends  in  the 
woods  ?  Shall  I  ask  him  if  he  is  fond  of  books  ? 
Ho  never  seems  inclined  to  talk  to  me  of  anything 
interesting.  I  feel  so  like  a  fool  whc  we  are  sit* 
ting  opposite  to  each  otlier  at  dinner.  If  it  was 
only  out  of  curiosity,  I  should  like  very  much  to 
converse  a  little  with  him  ;  but  I  am  so  afraid  of 
seeming  to  wish  to  de  ain  him  here  after  that 
strange  letter  and  his  irrevocable  resolution  that  I 
am  t'le  Grst  to  leave  the  room  when  our  meals  are 
ended." 

Sunday  came,  and  Rose  wondered  what  George 
intended  to  do  about  going  to  church.  She  said  to 
him  the  evening  before  : 

**  Mass  is  at  nine  o'clock  at  the  parish  church." 

**  Yes,"  he  answered  ;  **  but  I  meaa  to  hear  Muss 
at  Cereste  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  to 
walk  afterwards  across  the  hills  to  St.  Laurent.  If 
you  will  excuse  me,  I  shall  not  como  !  ome  for 
dinner,  Bendite's  mother  will  give  me  something  to 
eat." 

Rose  felt  sad,  and  as  she  walked  to  the  village 
chuicb,  about  half  a  mile  from  Belbousquet,  a 
strange  sort  of  depression  came  over  her,  very  dif- 
ferent from  all  she  had  suffered  before.  , 

She  was  not  8atis6ed  with  herself,  and  yet  she 
hardly  knew  that  she  had  cause  for  self-reproach. 
The  future  scerried  so  indefinite.  It  almost  appear- 
ed as  if  she  ought  to  be  glad  of  the  change  in  heir 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


destiny.  Had  she  not  told  her  parents,  anci  be- 
lieved it,  that  her  wish  was  to  remain  unmarried 
and  live  with  them.  And  would  not  Aunt  Med6 
be  glad  to  get  back  her  child  ?  But  the  more  she 
put  into  shape  the  prospect  before  her  tlie  more 
her  despondency  increased.  Prayer  did  not  com- 
fort her,  for  she  did  not  know  what  to  pray  for. 
She  had  no  wishes,  and  she  did  not  know  how  she 
ought  to  act.  Still  she  felt  an  inoperable  dislike 
to  the  idea  of  speaking  of  George's  letter  even  to 
Aunt  Mede.  As  to  her  parents,  she  never  could 
tell  them  of  it.  Jf  Ihe  separation  took  place,  they 
would  hear  of  it  from  others,  not  from  her. 

She  heard  Mass,  and  listened  to  the  cure's  jt?rd/ifl 
with  a  dull,  heavy  weight  on  her  heart.  When  she 
returned  to  the  silent  house  where  she  was  spending 
eo  many  hours  alone  she  caught  herself  throughout 
the  day  looking  somewhat  anxiously  down  the  ave- 
nme  to  watiJih  for  George's  return,  and  when  she 
heard  his  step  in  the  hall  was  angry  with  herself 
for  being  pleased  he  was  come  back. 

He  was  very  tired  wit!i  his  long  excursion,  said 
his  head  ached,  ate  little  at  supper,  and  soon  after- 
wards went  to  his  room.  She  longed  to  ask  him  if 
she  could  get  him  anything  for  his  headache,  a  cup 
of  strong  coffee,  or  wiiat  in  Provence  they  called  an 
infusion  of  tea,  but  her  shyness  with  him  had  be- 
come so  great  that  sheci>nld  not  bring  herself  io  say 
even  the  commonest  things  in  an  ordinary  manner, 
and  she  lost  the  opportunity  of  showing  ',im  this 
tnfling  attention.  She  did,  indeed,  desire  Th6- 
reson  to  go  and  ask  him  if  he  wished  for  au3?thing. 


214 


TJie  Notary's  Daughter, 


»!'> 


*I*be  commission  was  executed,  but  in  a  Tery  un- 
gracious manner.  Thereson,  not  unnaturally,  had 
taken  a  great  dislike  to  George.  She  considered 
him  slill  in  her  own  mind  as  a  /at/a,  and,  moreover, 
a  very  cross  and  disagreeable  one,  and  when  she 
looked  at  Mise  Rose's  sad,  pensive  countenance, 
the  diminution  of  her  bloom,  and  the  black  hue 
under  her  eyes,  she  often  felt  a  strong  rising  desire 
to  do  some  bodily  harm  to  M.  le  Baron,  which  word 
she  always  pronounced  with  intense  contempt,  or 
at  any  rate  to  give  him  a  piece  of  her  mind. 

Two  or  three  days  later  Rose  was  sitting  at  the 
window  of  her  bed-room,  which  looked  on  the  road, 
wondering  whether  any  one  would  come  to  see  her 
tliat  day.  She  expected  her  mother's  visit  on  the 
following  Thuivday,  that  had  been  agreed  upon 
when  she  left  home,  but  Aunt  M6de  or  her  father 
might  be  coming.  She  dreaded  the  thought  of  it, 
but  still  longed  for  somctliing  to  break  the  sort  of 
spell  that  seemed  to  hang  over  her. 

These  musings  were  interrupted  by  the  loud 
barking  of  George's  dog.  She  raised  her  head, 
which  had  been  resting  on  both  her  hands,  and 
lo  \ed  eagerly  at  the  road.  Perhaps  some  one 
was  arriving.  No,  but  there  was  Bcndite  stand- 
ing near  the  gate  with  a  great  load  of  grass  on  her 
head,  Slie  was  vainly  trying  to  collect  together 
her  scattered  goats.  Frightened  by  Wasp's  barking, 
thoy  were  rushing  about  in  every  direction. 
The  child  laid  down  her  burthen,  and  running 
after  the  terrified  animals,  chased  them  one  after 
another  and  drove  them  into  the  stable.    She  then 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


2K 


tried  to  replace  the  heap  of  grass  on  her  head,  but, 
exhausted  and  breathless  with  the  efforts  she  had 
made  to  reassemble  her  desk,  twice  she  failed  in 
her  attempt  to  raise  it,  and  down  fe!l  the  grass  at 
her  feet. 

George  arrived  at  that  moment,  and  seeing  the 
little  girl's  distress,  he  helped  her  to  lift  up  the 
load  and  to  balance  it  on  her  head,  and  walking 
slowly  by  her  side,  he  said  a  fe\v  words  to  her.  Be- 
n6ite  answered,  and  they  continued  to  converse. 
Rose  could  not  hear  what  they  said,  but  she 
watched  their  countenances,  and  was  surprised  to 
see  that  when  they  came  into  the  garden  they  still 
went  on  talking. 

The  child  stood  leaning  against  a  maple-tree, 
and  George,  leaning  on  his  gun,  stood  listening  to 
her  chattering  with  evident  interest  and  pleasure. 
Once  or  twice  ho  smiled  kindly  as  he  spoke  to  the 
child,  and  that  smile  on  his  pale,  melancholy  face 
was  like  a  ray  of  sunshine  on  a  sad  landscape. 
Rose  was  struck  with  the  expression  which  that 
smile  gave  to  his  countenance.  She  had,  strange 
to  say,  never  looked  attentively  at  George  till  then. 
Before  their  wedding  day,  aversion,  an  J,  sincn  she 
received  his  L  tter,  an  unconquerable  shyness,  had 
piovenfed  her  from  fixing  her  eyes  upon  him.  For 
the  first  time  she  was  looking  at  him  without  fear 
of  being  seen,  and  cs  he  stood  there  talking  with 
Ben6ite  she  watched  him  with  intense  attention. 

It  struck  her  that  hia  features  wtre  regular  and 
refined,  his  ..ands  whii;e  and  well-shaped,  and  hia 
figure  graceful. 


« 


2l6 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


"  If  he  was  more  like  other  people,"  she  thought, 
"he  would  be  very  handsome."  At  that  momenc 
Th6reson  came  into  the  room,  and  observing  that 
her  young  mistress  was  noticing  the  conversation 
going  jn  in  the  garden,  she  said  : 

'^  Ah  !  there  is  M.  le  Baron  talking  again  to  Be- 
n6ite." 

"Oh  I  he  takes  notice  of  %er,  does  he  ?"  Bose 
said,  trying  to  look  indifferent. 

"  '^h  I  dear,  yes  ;  M.  le  Baron,  who  has  not  a  word 
to  throw  to  a  dog  in  this  bouse,  often  favors  Bc- 
ndite  with  his  society." 

'•I  wonder  what  she  can  be  telling  him  that 
seems  to  interest  him  so  much  ?" 

"  Oh !  for  that  matter,  I  suppose  like  takes  to 
like.  She  is  a  queer,  wild  imp  whom  nobody  would 
care  to  talk  to  but  a — I  mean  a  sort  of  gentle- 
man like  M.  le  Baron.  She  is  half  crazy,  is  Be- 
n6ite.  You  never  knew  such  a  head  as  that  child 
has  got,  Alrays  full  of  ideas  without  head  or  tail, 
which  she  strings  together  and  makes  songs  of, 
and  then  she  speaks  of  flo\^  ers  us  if  they  were  peo- 
ple and  of  birds  as  if  they  were  Christians  ^and 
she  is  as  obstinate  and  as  perverse  as  a  wild-cat. 
And  there  was  M.  le  Baron  yesterday  telling  her 
a  tale  about  fairies,  and  showing  her  some  shells.  I 
don't  know  where  he  got  them  from.  I  declare  it 
can  only  be  the  likes  of  such  a  little  savage  as  that 
who  could  tamo  her." 

Thereson.  working  herself  up  to  a  state  of  indig- 
nation, was  on  the  point  of  giving  vent  to  all  the 
anger  with  which  the  was  bursting  against  Oeorgo 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


217 


de  VMelles,  but  Rose  cut  her  ehort,  and  said  in  a 

dry  manner: 

"Tlmb  will  do.  It  is  not  your  business  to  criti- 
cise what  M.  de  V6(l8lles  docs." 

**0h  !  if  madame  is  satisfied  with  the  life  that 
she  leads  here,  I  have  notliing  to  say  against  it." 
And  Th6reson  folded  her  hands  in  an  attitude  of 
r  signation. 

Bose,  to  change  the  subject,  asked :  "  What  is 
that  case  I  saw  Simon  and  the  waggoner  carrying 
up-stairs  yesterday  ?  " 

"Does  not  madame  kno^  ?  It  comes  from 
Paris  and  was  sent  to  La  Pinede.  M.  Vincent 
sent  it  on  here.  M.  le  Baron  had  it  opened  early 
this  morning,  and  spent  some  time  tnking  out  the 
books  that  were  in  it.  The  floor  of  his  room  is 
covered  with  thom.  Such  a  mess  as  it  is  in  !  all 
the  straw  and  brown  paper  and  string  thrown 
about.  Did  not  madame  hear  the  noise  he  made 
stamping  up  and  down  \yhilst  ho  unpacked  thom  ?  " 

"No,  T  slept  very  late,  I  had  a  bad  night,  and 

felt  tired." 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  wonder  at  that,  or  at  your 

looking  ill,  Mis6  Rose." 

"i  am  not  ill,  the  a'r  of  this   place  is  very 

healthy." 

**  The  air  indeed  ;  oh  !  I  dare  say ;  I  am  not  talk- 
ing of  the  air." 

•M  think  you  had  better  go  and  look  after  the 
dinner  now,  M.  de  Vedelles  is  coming  in." 


■44 


n^jiiiiiMftlLjj' 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A   CEISIg.      . 


ZoK  understood  that  this  was  a  hint  to  hold  licr 
tongue  and  leave  the  room.  She  went  down  to 
the  kitchen,  and,  once  there  in  her  own  domain, 
allowed  lierself  the  relief  of  speaking  out  her  mind 
to  old  Simon.  She  had  already  told  him  a  great 
many  things  during  the  hour  he  sat  every  evening 
cooking  his  onion  soup  and  frying  the  eggs  for  his 
supper  at  the  corner  of  her  stove. 

The  aged  gardenor  proved  a  very  safe  confidant. 
He  was  as  deaf  as  a  post,  but  knew  how  to  make 
up  for  the  answers — nob  generally  to  the  purpose — 
which  he  made  to  the  communications  addressed 
to  him,  by  a  play  of  countenance  expressing  alter- 
nately assent  ai;d  surprise,  in  a  way  which  gene- 
rally satisfied  lis  loquacious  companion.  So  she 
abused  George  to  her  heart's  content,  declared  that 
she  was  not  going  to  allow  Mise  Rose  to  be  snab- 
bed  by  a  good-for-nothing,  ill  brought  up  fada  of 
a  baron,  who  preferred  the  society  of  a  half-witted 
creature  like  Ben6ite  to  that  of  his  own  wife,  tho 
moit  charming  girl  in  tlic  whole  country.  This 
should  not  go  on.  She  would  tell  her  parents  how 
ill  he  behaved  to  her,  and,  shaking  violently  her 

218 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


219 


saucepan,  in  which  she  was  making  a  favorite  dish 
of  ti.e  country,  called  a  houille-abaissey  she,  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life,  spoilt  it.  Tiiis  did  not  im- 
pr  AC  her  temper,  and  whilst  waiting  at  dinner 
8  c  darted  angry  glances  at  the  xincjiiscious  and 
silt'UL  George. 

That  day  as  she  sat  opposite  to  him  at  the  littlo 
table  where  they  had  th^ir  meals  Rose  could  not 
help  now  and  then  raising  her  eyes  to  his  face  and 
contrasting  its  sad  and  indifferent  expression  with 
t  le  animation  and  the  smiles  she  had  noticed  when 
he  was  talking  to  Bendite. 

After  dinner  the  post,  which  only  rcachca  Bel- 
bousquet  three  times  a  week,  brought  some  letters 
and  newspapers  to  George,  and  a  note  from  Ma- 
dame Lesoalle  to  her  daughter,  in  which  she  said 
that  M.  Le  calle  had  taken  the  horse  and  chaise  for 
a  two  or  three  days'  excursion  to  see  some  of  his 
clients  and  c:invass  t.eru  in  favor  of  Jacques  de 
V6<1elles,  and  she  should  therefore  delay  a  little  her 
visit.  Rose  had  written  two  days  before  to  her 
mother  a  letter,  in  which,  without  saying  any- 
thing untrue,  she  had  managed  to  make  it  appea" 
that  she  was  well  and  happy.  She  had  dwelt  on 
the  charms  of  the  viHa,  and  described  how  much 
M.  de  Vedelles  admired  the  country.  What  long 
walks  t'icy  took.  She  did  not  say  that  each  went 
out  alone.  And  then  she  praised  Thereson  and 
said  how  comfortable  she  made  them. 

Madame  Lescalle,  finding  all  was  going  on  so 
smoothly,  thought  it  better  to  leave  them,  for  the 
present,  to  themselves.     Mise  M6d6;  to  whom  she 


M 


iH\ 


* 


11  ^  * 


JO 


The  Notary  s  Daughter 


sliowt^d  the  letter,  wus  of  tliu  same  opinion,  and  so, 
to  Thereson^s  great  disappointment,  no  visitors  ap- 
pparcd. 

Evar  since  Rose  had  seen  George  talking  to  Be- 
ndite  she  had  \vatchHd  for  an  opportunity  of  get- 
ting acqaained  with  the  child,  and  fiauing  out 
from  her  what  were  the  things  she  spoke  of  to  M. 
le  Baron.  This  was  no  easy  matter  ;  the  girl  was 
indeed,  as  Thereson  had  said,  a  wild  little  crea- 
ture, yery  difficult  to  accost  or  to  detain.  After 
many  vain  attempts,  she  happened  one  morning 
that  George  was  gone  in  another  direction  to  find 
Benoito  sitting  on  the  edge  of  a  well,  surrounded  by 
her  goats,  which  had  been  drinking,  and  were  now 
lying  at  her  feet.  She  started  up  when  she  saw 
Mise  approaching  her,  and  prepared  to  run  up  the 
steep  path  that  led  to  the  mountains.  But  when 
Rose  called  out  to  her  in  the  Provcnpal  dialect,  and 
said:  "1  have  got  Fomething  for  you,  Ben6ite, 
something  which  will  make  you  see  wondferful 
things — things  you  have  never  yet  seen — on  the 
wings  of  the  beetles  and  in  the  hearts  of  the  flow- 
ers," she  st  >pped  and  looked  at  her  young  mistress 
with  a  half-uoubtful,  half-eager  expression.  Rose, 
having  heard  of  tbo  child's  i^ssion  for  insects  and 
flowers,  had  provided  herself  with  a  magnifving 
glass,  the  present  of  one  of  her  school -fellows, 
which  had  bfien  lying  unused  in  her  work-bag. 
She  gathered  a  fjxglove  and  looked  attentively 
through  the  glass  at  the  inside  of  the  flower,  and, 
really  astonished  at  the  beauty  of  what  she  saw 
there,  exclaimed,  *'0h  !  how  lovely,"  upon  which 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


221 


the  little  girl  islowly  approacbed,  like  ti  bird  who 
longs  to  p  ck  up  the  crumb  you  throw  to  it,  but, 
suspicious  of  your  intentions,  hardly  yentures  to 
come  near  enough.  Ilowcver,  when  Rose  sat  down 
on  the  edge  of  the  well  and  filled  her  lap  with 
thyme,  heath,  and  hare-bells,  and  then  peeped  into 
their  secret  folds,  Bendito  could  no  longer  resist. 
When  the  glass  was  applied  to  ber  eye,  and  she  saw 
the  wonders  it  revealed,  a  cry  of  delight  broke  from 
her.  Catching  a  ladybird,  she  inspected  it  in  the 
same  way  and  her  delight  was  unbounded. 

"  Mv^nsicur   would  like   to  see  with  that 
eye,"  she  said.     "  Will  you  let  him  ?" 

The  child's  question  pained  Ros<^}. 

"Monsieur  often  talks  to  you,  I  think, 
always  about  the  flowers  and  ihe  insecis  ?  " 
Oh  !  about  many  other  things,  too." 
What  sort  of  things  ?    Birds  and  shells,  I  sup- 


glass 


Is  it 


a 


(C 


V" 


pose 

"  Oh  I  yes,  the  shells.  I  hear  the  noise  of  tha 
sea  when  I  hold  them  to  my  ear.  Have  you  ever 
heard  it?" 

"No." 

"  Monsieur  does  though,  and  he  can  tell  what 
the  wind  sings  in  the  branches  of  the  pine-trees, 
and  what  the  swallows  say  to  each  other  when  they 
meet  in  the  grove  before  they  fly  away.  But  I  have 
toW  him  things  he  does  not  know.  That  is  why 
he  likes  to  talk  to  mc.  *  Benoite,'  he  says,  *  why 
is  that  cloud  sailing  so  fast  across  the  sky  ? '  and 
then  I  answer  that  it  is  carrying  a  message  from 
the  islands  out  in  the  sea  up  to  the  tops  of  the 


-i 

^1 

i 

i 

■ 

mm 

1 

I 

'k 

< 

1 

™1 

•-..q 

i 

If'i 


222 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


mountains  where  the  snow  always  liuc,  and  then  he 
asks  me  what  the  sunflowers  are  thinking  of 
when  they  turn  round  to  look  at  the  sun  as  he 
sinks  behind  the  hill,  and  I  then  answer  that  they 
are  calling  out  to  him,  'Come  back  again  to-mor- 
row before  the  Angelus  rings/  When  I  sing  my 
songs  to  myself,  mother  and  old  Simon  and  that 
cross  Th^reson  call  me  a  fool,  but  monsieur  pats 
me  on  the  head  and  says  I  am  something  else, 
a  word  I  don't  know." 

"  What  does  it  sound  like  ?  "  Rose  asked. 
''Little  poet,"  the  child  replied, 
"And  what  has  monsieur  taught  you  that  you 
did  not  know  before  ?" 

"  Oh  I  so  many  things  about  the  good  God  and 
the  angels." 

*•  But  I  suppose  you  had  heard  of  the  good  God, 
Ben6ito,  and  you  knew  that  there  arc  angels  ?  " 

"Yes,  Mise,  but  not  that  it  is  the  voice  of  t^e 
good  God  which  speaks  when  it  thunders,  and  that 
the  winds  do  his  bidding.     Monsieur  says  that  the 
mountains,  aid  the  sea,  and  the  sun,  and  the  flow- 
ers sing  ligether  a  liymn  in  his  praise,  and  that  I 
must  vi  -  the  same  as  I  go  about  in  the  woods  and 
fields,  and  then  he  tells  me  that  when  he  goes  away 
I  must  talk  to  ray  guardian  angel,  my  own  angel, 
who  is  always  with  me  though  I  do  not  see  him, 
and  that  as  he  sees  the  face  of  our  good  God,  he 
will  teach  me  to  love  and  praise  my  Father  in 
heaven.    The  one  I  had  on  earth  went  away  hefore 
I  was  born,  and  I  am  glad  that  the  good  God  is 
my  Father,  and  the  Blessed  Virgin  is  my  Mother, 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


223 


and  tbe  an^jOld  my  frieuds.  I  think  monsieur  \\ 
himself  one  of  the  angels  of  the  good  God.  VVbca 
he  speaks  a  song,  for  he  does  not  sing  his  songs,  ho 
speaks  them  to  me,  I  find  it  more  beautiful  music 
than  the  organ  in  the  church." 

Rose  had  listeutd  to  the  child  with  a  strange  emo- 
tion. A  vague  idea  was  beginning  to  diiwn  od  her 
mind  that  George  was  not  only  not  a  fool — this  his 
letter,  that  letter  which  she  was  always  reading 
over,  had  at  once  showed  her — bnt  that  he  had 
thoughts  and  feelings  which  no  one  knew  of,  and 
whic  I  he  probably  considered  her  incupabie  of  ap- 
preciiting  or  understanding.  One  thing  Ben6i£e 
had  said  stiack  her  as  if  it  had  st  ibbed  her  to  the 
heart,  **  \Yhen  he  goes  away."  When,  and  hov7 
soon,  would  that  be  ?  Tiie  words  in  his  letter 
which  spoko  of  his  irrevocable  determination  to 
part  with  her  for  ever  were  remembered  with  a 
pang  she  coul  1  hardly  account  for.  Could  a  week 
spent  in  ihe  way  ihe  last  week  hud  been  spent,  one 
in  which  he  had  behaved  with  cold,  distant  civility, 
and  not  even  ai  tempted  to  become  acquainted  with 
her,  have  wrought  such  a  change  in  her  feelings 
that  she  was  actually  dreading  his  departure,  not 
merely  from  a  sense  that  there  was  something 
wrong  about  it,  thou(;h  she  could  not  clearly  see 
who  was  in  fault,  but  that  she  had  begun  to  lo^k 
eagerly  for  the  brief  moments  when  a  i'd^  words  were 
exchanged  between  them  as  the  interesting  periods 
of  the  day,  and  that  if  she  caught  sight  of  his 
face  at  times  when  he  was  not  a  awaro  of  it,  her 
eyes  could  not  detacli  thr/nselves  from  it.    She  had 


'!!■ 


:!i 


Tlte  Notary  s  Daughter, 

sunk  into  a  deep    reverie,    irom  which  she  was 
aroused  by  Benoite  saying: 

"Now  I  must  take  the  goats  to  feed  on  the 
moor  behind  those  trees  to  the  left.  We  always  go 
the  :e  at  this  hour,  and  monsieur  generally  comes 
home  that  way  with  Wasp,  who  has  now  made 
friends  with  my  goats.  He  is  going  to  tell  me  the 
story  of  a  peasant-girl  who  was  a  little  shepherdess 
like  me  and  a  great  saint.  Did  you  know,  Mise, 
that  little  girls  who  take  care  of  flheep  and  goats 
could  be  saints  ?  Will  you  come  and  hear  the 
story  monsieur  is  going  to  tel^  me  ?" 

must  hasten  home,  B'-^noire  ;  but  to- 
morrow morning  where  will  you  be  with  the  goats  ? 
I  will  come  to  you  and  you  will  tell  me  that  story." 
Dr  wn  by  the  side  of  the  brook  where  it  runs 
close  to  the  wood,  Mise.  Good  night."  And  Bendite 
walked  away,  followed  by  her  goats. 

Rose  went  home.  "I  can  never  forget  that 
Those  words  in  George's  letter  seemed  to 
haunt  her.  Had  that  look,  that  instant,  indeed  de- 
cided tlieir  fate,  as  he  had  said,  beyond  change 
and  recall.  She  had  been  wrong,  she  knew  i^  to 
show  feelings  she  now  regretted  had  existed,  and 
which  liad  disappeared  and  given  way,  if  not  to  op- 
posite, at  least  to  different,  impressions.  It  had 
been  indeed  an  almost  involuntary  fault  as  far  as 
that  ii.stant  was  concerne-J,  yet  she  could  not  but 
remember  that  she  \\^^  nurtured  and  encouraged 
in  herself  contempt  and  aversion  towards  the  person 
she  knew  she  must  marry,  which  had  prevented  her 
from  even  trying  to  see  in  him  anything  better 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


225 


than  what  her  dislilie  and  ready  belief  of  what 
others  had  eaid  about  him  pictured  to  her. 

Again  and  again  sLe  asked  lierself  what  could 
she  do  now  that  '(\s9i  tables  seemed  turned.  George 
really  seemed  to  have  conceived  an  aversion  for  her. 
The  feeble  efforts  she  made  to  conyerso  with  him 
on  any  but  the  rnost  trivial  subjects  were  met  with 
a  polite  indifference  and  an  utter  absence  of  inte- 
rest. Then  Rose  felt  her  tenijjcr  rising,  and  she 
showed  a  sort  of  irritation  which  she  could  not  con- 
qu'  r  at  the  moment,  and  which  yet  she  was  con- 
scious might  confirm  him  in  the  belief  that  it  WG3 
his  presence  which  caused  it. 

It  was  not  strange  that  a  young  and  (imidgirl  in 
so  difficult  a  position  did  not  know  how  to  act.  It 
may  indeed  seem  extraordinary  that  slie  did  not 
hasten  to  her  Aunt  Mise  or  write  to  her  for  advice, 
but  a  vague  fear  of  bringing  matters  to  a  crisis  by 
herscili  taking  any  step,  or  acquainting  even  Mile. 
Lescalle  of  the  determination  George  had  formed, 
kept  her  silent.  Mis6  Mode  might  think  it 
right  to  speak  to  his  parents  and  hers  of  the  in- 
tended separation,  and  she  abhorred  the  idea  of 
their  interference,  either  to  make  that  separation 
a  formal  one  or  to  compel  him  to  alter  his  inten- 
tion. 

This  feeling  was  so  strong  that  it  enabled  her  to 
reneiv  her  mother  on  ^\(i  day  after  her  first  inter- 
view witi*  Ben6ite  with  u  smiling  countenance,  and 
to  speak  in  a  way  which  satisfied  Madame  Lescalle 
that,  although,  according  to  certain  hints  which 
Th6r6soi5  had  given  her  during  a  brief  conversation 


,4;  i^|w  |lt 


il 


' 

'"\ 

i 

iill 


226 


T/ie  Notary s  Daughter. 


in  i.be  kitchen,  M.  le  B.iron  was  a  very  dall  and 
silent  companion,  and  that  Mise  Rose  would  soon . 
be  ill  if  she  continued  to  lead  such  a  stupid  life, 
her  daughter  was  well  satisfied  with  her  lot. 

"  But,  Mignonne,"  she  said,  when  Rose  ex- 
pressed her  wish  to  remain  on  at  Belbousquet, 
"we  could  very  well  lodge  you  in  town  till  La 
Pinede  is  purified ;  and,  between  yor  and  me,  I 
believe  that  stupid  maid  had  nothing  after  all  but 
a  common  rash.  You  can  stay  witli  us  until  the 
comte  and  comtesse  return,  Yoi  n>  <>  be  longing 
to  wearsome  of  your  new  gowi  s.  1  have  had  tliera 
hung  up  in  my  large  wardrobe.  There  is  notli- 
ing  so  bad  for  dresses  as  to  remain  folded  up  in 
cases." 

**Iam  sure  that  George  likes  better  to  be  here 
than  to  go  to  town,  mamma.  This  place  suits  him 
so  well.  He  takes  long  walks  into  the  mountains. 
He  is  gone  to-day  to  the  rocks  of  Entretat.  J  am 
sorry  he  will  miss  you.' 

*•  And  does  he,  then,  leave  you  in  t>  \  my 
alone  ?  " 

"  Oh  I  he  heard  you  were  coming,  fiiu'  >  a, 
and  — "  Rose  stopped,  and  then  added,  feeling 
that  this  sounded  rude,  "And  I  suppose  he  may 
have  thought  that  we  should  like  to  be  alone  to- 
gother,     George  is  very  shy,  you  know.*' 

"  Well,  well,  I  suppose  he  will  get  used  to  mo  in 
time,  and  the  best  way  will  be  to  bring  iiim  to  us 
at  once.  What  day  shall  it  be  ?  Next  Saturday? 
And  then  on  Sunday,  afer  church,  we  can  take  a 
walk  on  the  Tasse,  and  you  can  put  on  your  bine 


Ike  Notary  s  Daughter,  227 

8ud  white  moire  gown  and  your  black  lace  bonnet 
with  the  white  rose." 

"I  uill  speak  to  h;m  about  it,  dear  mamma,  and 
wrireyou  a  note." 

**  01^  I  for  that  matter,  my  love,  I  hope  jou  are 
Dot  g  ,jng  to  place  yourself  on  the  footing  of  asking 
your  husband  what  he  likes  to  do.  -^t  any  rate, 
during  the  honeymoon  it  is  a  matter  of  course  that 
you  do  as  you  like  ;  and  with  such  a  young,  inexpe- 
rienoed  man— I  mean  the  sort  of  man  he  is— if  yuu 
manage  well,  30U  will  always  have  the  upper  hand. 
I  am  sure  this  is  what  the  De  Vedelles  wished. 
And  if  you  Gnd  any  difficulty  about  it,  I  can  make 
him  quickly  feel  tiiat  when  we  agreed  to  the  mar- 
riage that  was  quite  understood.'* 

Kose  winced  at  this  speech,  and  felt  how  dread- 
ful it  would  be  to  have  her  mother  iaferferiug  in 
her  concerns.  S)  slie  only  answered  that  as  tlioy 
hid  hitherto  not  disagreed  about  anything,  there 
was  no  occasion  for  any  assertion  of  her  right  to 
have  her  oun  way.  Siie  again  expressed  her  wish 
to  remain  in  tho  country,  and  Madame  Lescalle  re- 
luctanty  waived  the  point. 

A  day  or  two  afterwards,  as  Rose  was  standi  g 
by  a  window  in  a  back  passage  which  looked  on 
the  garden,  she  saw  George  sitting  on  a  bench  with 
a  bit  of  paper  and  a  pencil  in  hii  hand.  His  face, 
as  he  looked  up,  was  full  of  expression,  his  eyea 
flashing,  and  his  lips  ^noving.  He  was  writing ; 
now  and  then  he  paused,  looked  up,  and  then 
wrot<j  again.  After  a  while  he  put  the  pencil  into 
his  pocket,  tore  the  paper,  threw  the  bits  on  the 


H        •     1 


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228 


T/ie  Notary s  Daughter, 


gra^s  behind  the  bench,  and  walked  oufc  of  the 
garden. 

Rose  had  been  two  successive  mornings  to  the 
''pot  where  at  noon  the  little  shepherdess  rested  in 
the  shade  with  her  flock,  and,  seated  by  her  side 
on  the  grass,  had  made  Benoite  repeat  the  stones 
which  George  had  told  her  the  evening  before- 
first  about  the  holy  shepherdess,  Germaine  Cousin, 
and  then  about  the  dear  saint  and  sweet  queen,  St. 
Elizabeth  of  Hungary.  The  little  girl  repeated  in 
a  touching  manner  some  of  the  incidents  of  these 
wonderful  lives.  She  told  how  Germaine  planted 
her  staff  on  the  hill-side  when  she  went  to  Mass, 
and  left,  her  sheep  under  the  care  of  hsr  guardian 
angel.  Never,  Bcn6ite  said,  did  they  stray  from 
the  spot,  and  then,  in  her  picturesque  phraseology 
and  with  expressive  gestures,  she  described  the 
miracle  of  the  loaves  changed  into  roses,  which  has 
been  so  often  painted  and  carved  and  sung  in  verse 
in  honor  of  the  dear  St.  Elizabeth. 

"  Monsieur  has  made  me  a  song  about  that,"  she 
add^d,  as  she  finished  her  recital  "He  made  it 
yesterday,  and  I  have  been  singing  it  ever  since. 
Shall  I  sing  it  to  you,  Mis6  ?  " 

Rose  nodded  assent,  and  then  Beu6ite'8  childish 
voice  warbled  in  the  Provenyal  dial  ct— the  melo- 
dious language  of  the  old  troubadours— rhymes  of 
which  the  following  verses  arc  a  feeble  translation : 

By  all  the  humble  grace  thut  marked 

Thy  footsteps  from  thy  birth, 
By  all  the  miracles  that  Rrace  1 

Tby  brief  cAreef  on  earth, 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


229 


By  all  the  suflferers,  young  and  old, 

That  to  thy  threshold  came, 
By  all  the  lepers  foul  and  §ad 

That  blest  thy  gentle  name, 

By  each  fair  rose  that  bloomed  within 
Tho  vest  whero  love  had  sought 

With  curious  eye  to  sc^an  the  dole 
To  famished  beggars  brought, 

By  all  tho  poet's  dreams  thao  still 

Are  blondeu  with  thy  fame, 
By  all  the  losends,  strangely  sweet, 

Which  consecrate  thy  name,  * 

r 

By  tho  fair  bird  whose  dulcet  notes 

Rang  in  thy  dying  ear,' 
And  by  the  hymns  which  angels  sang 

Exulting  round  thy  bier, 

O  loved,  O  >  weet  Elizabeth  I 

Bless  all  who  S'^ell  thy  train. 
And  let  thy  spl.  it,  dearest  -aint, 

I^ver  with  us  remeiin. 

Whilst  the  little  girl  sang  Rose  sat  with  her 
-ace  covered  with  her  hands,  tears  trickling  down 
her  cheeks.  She  made  Ben6its  repeat  what  she 
called  St.  EU'zabeth's  song  till  she  had  committed 
it  hersLlf  to  memory,  and  envied  the  child  for 
whom  it  had  been  composed. 

When,  some  hours  afterwards,  she  saw  George 
writing  in  the  garden,  his  face  lighted  up  with  an 
expression  she^ad  never  observed  in  it  before,  slio 
guessed  what  he  was  doing,  and  a  passionate  desire 
seized  her  to  collect  the  little  bits  of  paper  he  had 
thrown  aside  and  to  decipher  what  was  written  on 
them.  She  waichcd  him  out  of  the  grounds,  and 
then  furtively  made  her  way  behind  the  bench,  and, 


1 


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230 


The  Noiczrys  Daughter, 


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on  lier  knees,  carefully  collected  every  fragment  of 
ilie  tora-up  ebeet  of  paper  and  carried  tbem  up  to 
her  room  ;  then,  locking  her  door,  she  patiently 
and  carefully  reassembled  and  adjusted  the  bits  of 
writing,  and  with  flushed  cheeks  and  beating  heart 
made  out  some  lines  whicli  had  a  strange  effect 
upon  her.  They  seemed  to  her  very  beautiful 
poetry,  a;.d  deficient  as  she  was  in  literary  know- 
ledge, her  instinct  did  not  mislead  Rose. 

The  I'nes  were  full  of  melody — of  the  music  of 
poetry — and  they  expressed  forcibly  strong  and 
•  vehement  feelings.  They  seemed  addressed  to 
some  one  revered,  wordiipped,  and  for  ever  lost, 
but  not  dead,  for  tliey  called  upon  this  being,  as 
far  removed  from  Lim  who  addressed  her  as  if 
death  had  separated  them,  still  to  be  llie  guiding 
light  of  his  sad  existencj.  Ho  abjured  that  absent 
one  not  to  forget  in  her  hours  of  w  rship  before 
the  silent  altar,  to  send  her  ang«l  with  a  n^cssage 
of  strong  til  and  peace  to  him,  wlio,  a/ter  years  of 
dull  apathy,  had  been  awakened  to  fctl,  to  think, 
and,  after  a  brief  gleam  of  illusive  hope,  to  suffer, 
with  an  intensity  which  had  roused  latent  powers, 
once  possessed,  long  lost,  and  now  regained.  "  In 
the  homes  of  tiic  poor,"  these  lines  went  on  to  say, 
**  pray  for  the  soul  thou  hast  taught  to  love  th« 
poor;  by  the  bod  ide  of  the  d;.ing  pray  for  him 
who  often  longs  to  lay  down  the  Durthen  of  life 
and  rest  in  a  quiet  grave,  God  speaks  to  thee  in 
the  silence  of  his  sacramental  presence,  he  speaks 
to  thee  through  the  eyes  and  through  the  lips 
which  follow  and  bless  tbeo  in  the  sick  ward  or  the 


!^t' 


wm 


The  Notary s  Daugktm, 


231 


house  of  poverty,  and  lie  will  permit  thy  words  to 
win  for  nie  strength  to  bear  my  fate,  courage  to  go 
through  life  unloved  and  uncared  for  ;  they  will 
reach  my  soul  in  hours  of  solitude,  spent  in  con- 
verse wilh  nature  and  with  that  God  who,  when  he 
sent  thee  to  my  help,  saved  mc  from  despair.  Faith 
had  waned,  I  3pe  had  died,  love  had  vanished  from 
my  soul;  even  though  stamped  with  acute  anguish, 
I  welcome  them  again." 

A  strange  number  of  confused,  agitated,  start- 
ling thoughts  rushed  on  poor  little  Rose's  mind  as 
she  made  out  these  lines  and  pondered  over  them* 
Their  meaning  could  not  be  mistaken.  He  had 
cared  for  some  one  else,  he  had  loved  some  one 
else.  He  still  worshipped  in  some  strange  manner 
that  one,  whoever  she  was,  whom  he  looked  upon 
as  a  saint  or  an  angel.  "  Then  what  businest  had 
he  to  marry  poor  little  mo  ?  '*  she  exclaimed  to  her- 
self, w*  li  a  sudden  feeling  of  indignation,  and  per- 
haps of  jealousy;  but  conscience — and  Rose's  con- 
science was  one  of  those  clear  and  upright  guides 
whifch  did  not  lend  itself  to  self-deceit — answered, 
"  The  same  business  you  had  to  marry  him  when 
you  felt  you  hated  him."  *'  But  a  mar.  should  have 
more  courage  than  a  woman,"  the  iiiward  voice 
pleaded  with  some  truth.  But  conscience  again 
replied,  **  He  meant  to  try  and  make  you  happy  ; 
his  letj;er  said  so.  And  then  you  spurned  him. 
You  showed  him  you  loathed  his  very  sight.  0 
my  God  I  my  God  I  what  a  mistake  I  made.  Are 
we  both  to  pass  through  life,  as  ho  s:iys,  unloved 
and    uncared  for,  bearing    the  same  name,   but 


.•II 

I  ■ 


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232 


Hi^e  Notary  s  Daughter, 


strangers  to  each  other,  strangers  as  wo  now  are, 
and  soon  to  part  for  ever  ?    Bat  who  i i  this  woman 
who  ho  thinks  lias  been  a  blessing  to  him,  and  yet 
made  him  saff  r  so  terribly  ?    Who  can  she  be  ? 
Will  tliey  meet  again  ?    By  what  the  yerses  say  she 
must  bo  vory  good,  a  great  deal  at  church,  and  tak- 
ing  care  of  poor  people.   I  won.lcr  wiiere  she  lives  ? 
I  suppose  I  shall  never  know.     I  was  thinking  yes- 
terday of  trying  to  show  him  that  I  no  not  dislike 
him,  tliatlcould  like  him  very  much;   but  now 
that  I  find  that  ho  cares  about  somebody  else,  per- 
haps that  would  only  make  him  hate  me." 

For  two  long  hours  Rose  mused  in  this  way,  and 
was  only  disturbed  from  these  absorbing  thoughts 
by  Thtireson's  knock  at  the  door  and  somewhat  im- 
patient announcement  that  dinner  was  on  the  table 
and  M.  le  Baron  in  the  dining-room.     She  hastily 
came  down  stairs,  and  was  so  preoccupied  that  if 
George  had  paid  the  least  attention  to  her  looks  he 
must  have  been  struck  with  it ;  but  he  was,  if  pos- 
Bible,  more  silent  and  abstracted  than  ever.    Rose, 
remembering  the  expression  of  his  face   whilst  he 
had  been  writing  the  verses  which  had  thrown  her 
into  BO  great  an  agitation,  could  hardly  believe  he 
was  the  same  person  now  sitting  opposite  to  her, 
and  only  uttering,  at  long  intervals,  some  common' 
place  observation. 

She  became  painfully  nervous,  answered  in  an 
impatient  manner,  and  spoke  crossly  to  Zon  be- 
cause, in  clearing  away  the  things,  she  had  knock- 
ed two  glasses  against  each  other.  Ho  seeme( 
surprised. 


ilii 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


233 


At  lasf,  when  llie  servant  bud  left  the  room,  she 
gof,  lip  suddenly  and  said,  "  I  must  ask  you  to  excuse 
me.     I  have  a  bad  lieadache,  and  must  go  and  rest." 

"Are  you  ill,  Rose?"  George  said,  more  gra- 
ciously than  usual. 

**  Oh  I  no  ;  it  is  nothing.  I  feel  only  a  little  stu- 
pid— alittlcdull.  I  think  I  shall  go  and  see  my 
Aunt  Medo  to-morrow." 

**  By  all  means.  I  think  it  will  do  you  a  great 
deal  of  good.  Perhaps  you  do  not  take  enough  ex- 
ercise." 

Rose  stood  with  the  handle  of  the  door  in  htr 
hand.  She  tried  to  steady  her  voice.  She  wanted 
to  say  some  insignificant  thing  about  sending  for 
the  cui-pentor's  donkey  to  take  her  to  town,  but  the 
effort  to  control  her  emotion  failed,  and  she  burst 
into  tears.  Ho  started  up,  and,  losin  all  self-com- 
mand, she  exclaimed  :  "  I  can  no  longer  e;idure 
this,  my  life  is  unbearable." 

He  seemed  pained,  and  said  in  a  grave  and  earn- 
est manner:  **  I  can  indeed  well  understand  it.  I 
feel  it  has  las.'ed  too  long.  I  have  been  considering 
that  it  is  high  tinie  that  you  should  beleflrtoenj  y 
the  society  of  those  you  love  and  be  delivered  from 
my  presence.  You  will  do  me  the  justice  to  say 
that  I  have  fulfilled  my  pledge  and  kept  my  word. 
I  need  not  repeat  the  assurances  I  have  already 
given  you.  May  God  help  us  both  to  endure  the 
(•rials  of  life.  Our  paths  lie  in  different  directions. 
May  yours  be  as  happy  and  as  peaceful  as  is  possi- 
ble under  the  circumstances.  Perhaps  you  will 
remain  a  few  days  at  Lcs  Oapucins,  or  else  bring 


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234 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


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back  your  auufc  with  you  hero  ?    To-morrow  I  shall 
go  to  Mai-seilies." 

Rose  mado  no  reply.  She  could  not  think  of 
anything  she  could  or  would  say,  and  hurried  up 
to  her  room,  where  she  remained  for  some  hours 
absorbed  in  painful  refleciions,  made  up  of  bitter 
regrets  and  self-reproach.  It  was  late  in  the  night 
before  she  fell  asleep,  and  when  she  awoke  in  the 
morning  it  was  past  nine  o'clock.  She  dressed 
hastily  and  went  djwn  stairs.  Breakfast  was  laid 
only  for  one  on  the  dining-room  table.  Thereson's 
voice  was  audible  in  tbe  kitchen  disputing  with 
old  Simon.  Rose  called  her  and  asked,  "Where 
is  M.  de  Vedelles  ?  " 

"Simon  says  that  M.  le  Baron  went  to  Marseilles 
by  the  Qrst  diligence  at  five  o'clock  this  morning. 
He  carried  his  portmanteau  for  him  to  the  high- 
road. So  that  was  why  I  took  away  the  second 
cup  and  plate.  Monsieur  said  that  raadame  was 
going  Lo-day  to  the  Capucins.  Will  madame  want 
Oasimir's  donkey,  and  am  I  to  go  with  her  ?" 

"  No ;  I  have  changed  my  mind.  I  shall  stay 
here  at 'any  rate  to-day,"  Rose  said;  and,  after 
swallowing  with  some  effort  a  few  mouthfuls  of 
food,  siie  put  on  her  hat  and  went  to  try  and  find 
Beri6ite.  She  was  ashamed  of  feeliiig  as  wretched 
as  she  did.  She  could  not  bear  to  remain  alone, 
nor  to  go  to  La  Ciutat.  She  wanted  to  speak  of 
George,  and  yet  the  only  human  being  to  whom  at 
that  moment  she  felt  that  she  could  do  so  was  the 
little  wild  girl  of  the  woods,  the  child  he  had  been 
kind  to." 


CHAPTER   XTII. 


X    DISCOVEEY. 

Rose  walked  with  a  rapij  step  to  the  well,  where 
she  expected  to  fiud  Beuoite,  and  sure  enough  she 
was  there  as  usual;  but,  instead  of  waiting  to  bo 
accosted  and  spoken  to,  as  soon  as  the  child  saw 
her  joung  mistress  she  sprang  tip  and  ran  to  meet 
lier, 

"0  Misel'  she  exclaimed,  'Ms  monsieur  gone 
awaj  ?  " 

"  He  went  to  Marseilles  this  morning.  Did  he 
tell  jou  yesterday  that  he  meant  to  do  so  ?  " 

"Yes;  ill  the  evening,  when  I  was  taking  the 
goats  into  the  stable,  he  came  to  wish  me  good-by. 
He  had  not  said  anything  about  going  away  when  I 
had  met  him  in  tho  afternoon.  0  Mise  !  I  am 
so  sorry  he  is  gone."    And  Ben6ite  begun  to  cry. 

Rose  sat  down  by  the  child  and  held  her  hand  in 
hers.  The  little  girl  looked  up  into  her  face  and 
said  : 

"  Will  he  come  back  again  soon  ?  I  asked  him, 
but  he  would  not  tell  mc.  He  only  patted  me  on 
the  shoulder,  and  said  we  sliould  meet  again  some 
day.  Are  you,  too,  going  away,  Mis6  Rose  ?  I  do 
not  love  you  as  much  as  T  love  monsieur,  but  I  am 

385 


236 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


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)     -I 


1^'. 


beginning  to  like  you,  and  if  30U  will  tell  Th^r680D 
not  to  call  me  an  idiot,  I  shall  soon  love  you." 

*'01il  she  must  nob  do  tliat,"  Rose  said,  her 
cheek  flushing.  "People  don't  know  the  harm 
they  do  when  they  dare  to  say  such  things.  I  don't 
wonder,  Bendite,  that  you  should  like  monsieur 
better  thar  mc.  I  cannot  tell  you  nico  stories  or 
make  songs  for  you  as  he  did." 

"  But  can't  you  find  stories  in  a  book,  Miso  f " 
"  Do  you  mean  if  I  can  read  tliem  ?" 
"  Wcil>  I  snppose  so.  What  I  know  is  that  mon- 
sieur, when  he  began  telling  mo  about  the  dear  St. 
Elizabeth,  was  carrying  a  book  under  hia  arm,  and 
in  the  beginning  of  it  waa  a  picf-  e  of  her  with  her 
lap  full  of  roses,  g,nd  a  gentlem,  itli  a  face  some- 
thing like  monsieur's  peeping  at  them.  Once  he 
said  ho  was  going  to  tell  me  another  story,  about  a 
sick  man  she  put  in  a  bed,  and  then  when  people 
came  to  look  at  him  there  waa  Jesus  on  hia  cross 
lying  in  it  instead.  He  found  that  in  the  book. 
Perhaps  if  you  had  it  you  could  find  some  stories  iu 
it.^ 

The  child's  suggestion  was  not  lost  oa  Rose.  She 
made  up  her  mind  to  yenture  iato  the  room  where 
Ckjorge's  books  were  lying  about  and  to  try  and 
discover  this  one.  Whilst  she  waa  thinking  of 
this  Bendiie  was  looking  at  her  wistfully.  At  last 
she  said  x 

"  Mis6,  could  you  take  care  of  the  goats  for  aa 
hour  or  two  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  could.     But  why  should  I  ?*^ 

"  Because  then  I  could  do  monsieur's  commissioii 


...  ''5 

it'll 


"^wwi 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


237 


this  morning  instead  of  late  this  evening,  and  not 
have  to  keep  Toinette  waiting  so  long  for  her 
mone}-." 

"  Who  is  TometLc  ?  " 

'•'She  is  a  very  old,  paralyzed  woman  who  lives 
in  a  hut  half-way  between  this  place  and  Cereste, 
at  the  rocks  of  Etretat.  Monsieur  found  lier  out 
one  day  by  chance — the  first  day  lie  was  here,  I 
think — and  she  was  very  ill,  and  afraid  slie  was 
going  to  die.  Monsieur  talked  to  Cereste  and 
told  M.  le  Cur6  how  bad  she  was,  and  M.  le  Cur6 
came,  and  he  got  a  woman  to  take  care  of  lier. 
After  that  .nousicur  wei.t  himself  every  day, 
and  yesterday,  'Bcn6ite,'  he  e^id,  *I  want  i^i  send 
£ame  money  to  poor  old  Toinette,  as  now  I  shall 
not  bo  hero  to  t-ike  food  to  her.  I  don't  know  who 
io  £end  with  it;  Th43reson  and  Simon  would  not 
care  to  walk  so  far.'  'Send  your  guardian  angel,' 
I  said.  He  laughed,  and  answered  that  I  was  for 
onco  to  be  his  guardian  angel,  and  when  I  have 
taken  the  goats  home  I  must  carry  to  her  this  fine 
gold  thing.  It  is  the  finest  t!;ing  you  ever  saw. 
Misc."  And  Benoite  j^roduced  a  twenty-franc 
piece  in  gold,  wliicl'  she  held  up  before  Rose's  eyes 
mth  exuliing  admiration. 

^'!N"ow,  I  shall  be  tired  to-night,  and  if  you 
would  mind  the  goats,  Mi£6,  I  could  go  now  to 
Toinette.  She  will  bo  so  soriy  at  the  usual  time 
when  monsieur  took  her  some  dinner  and  no  mon- 
fiieur  and  no  dinner  comes.  If  she  has  this  to  look 
at,  maybe  it  will  cftmfort  her,  t'lough  she  can't  cat 
it.     But  monsieur  says?  it  will  turn  into  a  bagful  of 


ii 


■,-.ii 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


peiinies  when  she  likes,   and  then  she  can  bnj 
bread." 

Rose  was  hesitating  as  to  what  she  would  an- 
swer, and  Ben6ite  went  on :  *'  You  see,  Mis6,  I 
thought  of  planting  ray  staff  here,  just  as  Ger- 
maine  Cousin  did,  and  leaving  it  to  take  care  of  the 
goats,  but  I  am  afraid  they  would  not  mind  it." 

**  No,  because  you  arc  not  a  saint,  little  Bcu6ifce. 
Thereson  says  yoa  are  very  nanghfy  sometimes* 
and  will  not  do  as  you  are  told." 

"  The:)  ril  be  a  eaint  to  spite  her,"  Ben6ite  ex- 
claimed, shaking  her  fist  and  stamping  in  a  very 
unsuintlike  manner.  *•  Fll  be  a  saint,  and  then 
the  birds  and  the  boasts  will  do  what  I  tell  them, 
as  the  wolf  did  when  St.  Francis  bade  him  keep 
the  peace  with  the  people  of  Gubbio.  That  was 
another  of  monsieur's  tales.  But  I  shall  not  tell 
the  wolves  to  keep  the  peace  with  Thereson.  I 
will  order  that  great  eagle  that  flew  across  the  sky 
and  perched  on  the  high  rock  above  Etretat  last 
night  to  pick  ont  her  eyes." 

''0  Ben6ite  I  you  would  not,  if  you  could,  do 
such  a  dreadful  thing.  You  would  be  like  a  devil, 
not  a  saint." 

**  Well,  if  not  her  eyes,  her  cap.  I  would  bid 
him  carry  her  cap  off  her  head,  away  to  his  nest. 
I  should  like  to  hear  her  scream  after  it.  But 
what  shall  I  do  about  Toinette  ?" 

"  Tell  me  where  she  lives,  and  I  will  go  to  her 
myself." 

"Well,  Mis6,  you  must  follow  that  path  that 
leads  through  the  wood,  and  then  enter  the  olive 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


groves  and  go  up  the  bill.  You  will  pass  by  a  lit- 
tle sbrine,  where  there  is  a  madonna,  aod  then 
turn  tc  the  left.  In  a  little  while  yon  will  come 
to  some  lemon  and  omuge  trees.,  and  there  under 
the  rocks  is  Toinctte's  hut." 

Rose  went  back  to  ihe  bouse  to  fill  a  basket,  ard 
then,  laden  with  provisions,  and  entrusted  with 
the  gold  piece,  which  Benoi'e  gave  into  her  handa 
with  rather  a  wistful  look  of  regrot,  she  started  on 
her  ermnd. 

It  was  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  the  long  days 
of  June.  The  air  was  balmy,  and  ihongh  the  heat 
was  great,  it  was  not  oppressive.  There  was  shade 
almost  everywhere  on  her  road.  Eose  thought  how 
strangely  different  things  had  turned  out  from  what 
she  had  expected.  She  could  form  no  idea  as  to 
her  future,  and  felt  as  ifin  u  dream.  It  was  a  re- 
lief lo  walk,  to  have  something  to  do,  and  the  fact 
that  she  was  executing  the  commission  George  had 
entrusted  lO  the  little  peasant  gave  her  a  sort  of 
satisfaction. 

The  hut  Bendite  had  described  was  in  a  lonely 
situation  at  the  foot  of  some  rocks ;  the  nearest 
place  to  it  was  C^reste.  She  ca.ily  found  it,  and 
explained  io  the  paralytic  and  soliWy  old  woman 
that  M.  do  V6delles  was  absent,  that  he  sent  her 
twenty  francs  to  provide  for  her  immediate  necessi- 
ties, and  that  she  ha^  lierself  brbught  her  somo 
dinner. 

**  And  who  are  you,  kind  Mis6  ?  "  the  old  crea- 
ture asked,  looking  with  admiration  at  Eose's 
lovely  face. 


<  :V  *^^ 


240 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


*'  1  am  the  wife  of  the  gentleman  who  has  visit- 
ed ycu  lately,'*'  she  answered,  and  for  the  first 
time  she  said  tliat  word  tvi'fe  with  a  sort  of  empha- 
sis that  seemed  like  laying  claim  to  a  name  she 
would  nof-  have  willingly  given  up. 

"  Then  the  good  God  Las  rewarded  him  for  all 
his  charity  by  giving  him  an  angel  for  a  wife," 
Toinetto  rejoined,  clasping  her  thin  hands  together 
and  speaking  in  that  poetical  manner  wjjich  in 
Provence,  as  in  Ireland,  is  so  often  met  with 
amongst  the  poor  and  the  ignorant. 

Rose  sat  down  by  the  bedside  and  said,  "  He 
has,  then,  been  very  kind  to  you  ?  " 

**  Good  as  the  good  God,  Mise.  He  has  saved 
my  life,  but  done  yet  more  for  my  soul.  Oh  I  if 
you  knew  the  peace  and  the  consolation  he  has 
given  to  this  poor  heart  of  mine." 

"  How  so  ?  "  said  Hose  earnestly,  drinking  in 
each  of  the  sick  woman's  words,  who  told  her  sad 
and  simple  story  with  the  impassioned  feeling 
and  natural  eloquence  of  a  Southern  nature.  It 
was  an  often-told  tale,  that  of  a  mother  whose 
only  son  had  gone  on  wildly  from  his  boyish  days, 
and  had  at  last  been  led  into  crime,  more  from 
weakness — so  she  thought — than  from  perversity. 
Bad  associates  had  got  hold  of  him.  Two  years 
airo  he  had  been  concerned  in  the  robbery  of  a 
diligence,  tried,  and  condemned  for  five  years  t(k 
the  galleys. 

From  the  day  the  dreadful  news  reached  her  the 
convict's  mother  had  not  heard  one  word  from  or 
about  her  son.    Her  soul,  as  she  expressed  it,  had 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


241 


thirsted  for  news  of  liim,  but  none  ever  came,  and 
hope  had  died  away  in  her  heart  till  tbo  day  that 
George  de  Yedelles,  in  his  wanderings  in  the  hills, 
had  accidentallv  entered  her  hut.  To  him  she  told 
her  grief,  and,  as  she  eaw  pity  in  his  face,  she 
poured  forth  the  long  pent-up  anguish  of  her 
soul,  and  described  the  rebellious  anger  she  felt 
against  God  and  man.  He  had'  soothed  and  con- 
soled her. 

"O  Misel'^she  exclaimed,  *'he  told  me  he 
knew  what  it  is  to  suffer  ;  that  young  as  ho  was  ho 
had  borne  a  heavy  cross,  and  that  he  would  try  to 
lighten  mine." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  what  has  been  his  cross  ? " 
Hose  asked  with  her  face  turned  away,  dreading 
to  hear  the  answer. 

"  Not  exactly,  Mise.  He  told  mo  he  had  been 
ill,  and  lost  for  years  the  strength  to  work,  or  even 
to  think.  lo  said  this  when  I  complained  that  in 
the  long  sleepless  nights  in  winter,  when  I  lie  here 
alone,  I  almost  go  out  of  my  mi  ad.  He  smiled 
kindly,  and  then  just  said  those  few  words,  and  he 
promised  (0  get  me  news  of  my  son." 

'•  Did  he  succeed  ?  "  ' 

*'0h  !  /es ;  thanks  bo  io  the  good  God  who  hears 
our  prayers.  Ah  !  that  reminds  me  of  what  he 
told  me  when  I  was  crying  so  bitterly,  something  a 
great  saint  bad  said  about  sons  being  saved  by 
their  motlier's  tears.  Yes,  Mise,  ho  wro'e  to  a 
friend  of  his  at  Toulon,  some  one  as  good  as  himself, 
and  he  brought  me,  three  days  ago,  this  letter. 
When  he  had  read  it  to  mo  he  laid  it  on  the  bed^ 


m  I 


'  ffl 


li 


242 


11  L€  Notary  s  DaugJitcr. 


n  1 


and  forgot  to  lake  it  away  with  him.  And  oh  !  I 
think  this  was  a  mercy  if  tho  good  God,  for  I  have 
found  in  it  the  words  about  my  Antoine.  It  lies 
on  my  heart  all  the  day,  and  at,  night  under  my 
pillow,  such  as  it  is.  Yon  may  see  it  if  you  like, 
njy  beautiful  Mise.  Oh  !  you  arc  happy  to  have 
M.  George  for  your  husband.  I  am  so  glad  God 
has  given  him  a  wife  as  good  as  himself.  ^I  shall 
always  pray  for  you  both." 

*'Yes,  pray  for  us  both,"  Rose  repeated  softly, 
and  two  largo  teari  rolled  dovn  her  cheeks.  The 
letter  which  Toincttc  put  into  her  hands  was  as 
follows : 

"My  dear  Friekd:  As  soon  as  I  got  your 
orders,  off  I  went  to  M.  TAumonier  du  Bagne,  and 
made  enquiries  with  regard  to  the  convict  iu  whom 
you  take  rm  interest. 

"It  is  very  like  you,  George,  during  the  first 
days  of  your  honeymoon,  for  I  duly  received  tho 
lettre  de  faire  j^^ft,  announcing  your  marriage 
with  Mile.  Ro:C  Lescallc,  and  taw  in  the  papers 
that  it  had  taken  place.  I  mus'j  say  I  think  you 
ought  to  have  written  to  me  yourself  on  such  an 
occasion  ;  but  to  return  to  the  point,  I  say  it  was 
like  you  to  feirct  out  in  the  mountains,  to  which 
you  have  apparently  retired,  a  sick  old  woman  to 
visit  and  a  work  of  charity  to  be  done. 

"When  we  were  at  college,  and  you  were  carry- 
ing oH  all  the  prizes,  what  made  me  love  you,  old 
fellow,  was  not  that  you  were  clever  and  bright  and 
at  t  ho  head  of  our  class,  but  that  if  there  war^  a 
kind  thing  to  be  clone  you  were  always  the  one  to 


T}ie  Notary's  DmigJJcr, 


243 


do  it,  t,nd  you  seem  noh  (o  have  lost  tlia^i  good 
habit. 

"  Well,  I  have  good  news  to  give  you  of  your  young 
man.  wherewith  to  cheer  his  moiher's  heart.  He 
i^is  alive — M.  Antoine  Lemairc — he  is  ^\ell,  and 
■what  is  better  s'.ill,  he  has  behaved  so  irreprouc'.- 
ably  since  he  has  been  at  the  Biigne  that  a  few 
weeks  ago  he  was  madeoneof  thcinfirDiariansof  the 
convict  hospital,  and  is  becoming  quite  a  favorite 
with  the  physicians.  He  goos  to  his  duties,  and 
M.  I'Aumonier  has  promised  me  that  the  next  time 
he  fees  him  he  will  tell  him  that  his  mother  sends 
him  her  blessing,  and  advise  him  to  wri  e  to  her  if 
he  knows  how,  which  seems  doub  ful.  Should  he 
be  able  to  do  so,  I  will  enclose  to  you  the  letter,  as 
the  good  old  lady's  hut  which  you  describe  is  ijot, 
I  shoulJ  imagine,  fsiYniliar  to  the  postman. 

'*  If  you  can  tear  yourself  away  from  Belbousquet 
— what  a  charming  name,  and  how  well  suited  the 
place  muit  be  for  a  honeymoon  I — perhaps  yoa 
could  pay  me  a  visit  next  week.  I  should  like  to 
show  you  the  man-of-war  which  my  uncle  com- 
mands, and  which  is  shortly  to  carry  me  off,  in 
company  with, that  uncle,  to  the  shores  of  the  New 
World.  I  have  heard  from  the  Paris  publisher. 
His  render  is  delighted  with  your  poems.  I  could 
not  help  laughing  the  othtr  day  when  C6saire  de 
Oroixfond  spoke  of  you,  and  asked  me  if  it  was  true 
that,  since  the  illness  you  nearly  died  of,  you  had 
lost  all  that  inlclligence  you  were  so  noted  for  at 
college.  I  suspect,  old  fellow,  that  in  that  utter 
inability  to  occupy  yourself  with    anything  but 


•ss 


%M 


III 


«i 

.| 

^^^H 

244 


TJii  Notary's  Daughter, 


poetry  there  has  been  a  tiny  bit  of  maiivaise  volonte* 
Am  I  uiijnst,  George  ?  Perhaps  so,  for  a  clever 
physician  assured  me  the  other  day  that  after  such 
a  shock  as  your  brain  experienced  in  that  fever  it 
was  sometimes  years  before  a  person  recovered  the 
power  of  appliea  ion,  even  though  Ihe  mind  was 
not  affected.  But  God  has  given  you  geniu-',  and 
you  will  take  the  world  by  surprise,  especially  the 
liltlo  world  of  your  own  family,  who  have  none  of 
them,  I  fancy,  t!io  remotest  idea  of  what  lies  under 
that  silent,  absent,  languid,  provokirg  manner  of 
yours. 

"  Write  and  tell  me  if  you  can  come  here  next 
week,  and  believe  me  youraffec  ionate  and  devoted 
friend,  " -Aloys  de  Belmont, 

"JSTaval  Lieutenant. 

"  May  I  venture  to  beg  you  to  present  my  re- 
spects to  Madame  George  de  Y^delles  ?  " 

Light  had  been  gradually  dawning  on  Rose's 
mind,  and  this  letter,  so  sin;?ularly  thrown  in  her 
way,  revealed  to  her  the  truth  which  she  was  be- 
ginning to  realize.  Gcojge  de  V^  elles  was  a  totally 
different  being  from  the  one  the  reports  of  others 
and  her  own  imagination  had  drawn.  Ho  had  been 
misunderstood  and  underrated  by  his  relatives,  de- 
spised by  his  father,  compassionated  by  his  mother, 
held  cheap  by  lis  brother,  and  hated  by  herielf. 
No  wonder  he  had  told  the  poor  paralytic  woman 
before  her  that  heavy  had  been  the  cross  he  had 
had  to  bear.  No  wonder  that  when  he  had  seen 
her,  on  the  day  she  had  been  made  his  wife  look,  at 


The  Notary's  Daughter^ 


24S 


him  with  contempt  and  aversion — she,  the  ignor- 
ant, foolish  liltle  girl  who  had  not  thonght  it 
worth  her  while  to  judge  for  herself  of  the  man  to 
whom  she  had  been  married — thaJi  he  turned  from 
her  with  disgust  and  left  her  to  her  fate.  And  he 
had  known  and  cared  for  one  who  must  have  been 
so  different  from  herself,  his  very  ideal  of  a  perfect 
woman  ;  whereas  she  must  be  in  his  eyes  one  of 
those  creatures  who  think  tiinkets  and  smart 
dresses  and  a  carriage  and  servants  the  only  ele- 
ments of  happiness.  She  kept  the  letter  from 
George's  friend  a  l^^ng  time  in  her  hand  and  almost 
learnt  by  heart  its  contents.  When  at  last  she  laid 
it  down  and  Toinette  said,  **Is  it  not  a  beautiful 
letter  ? ''  Eose  started,  and  then  answered  : 

*'  Indeed,  I  am  very  glad  you  showed  it  to  me.  I 
shall  come  and  see  you  again  in  a  day  or  two." 

"With  M.  George  ? "  Toinette  asked. 

*'  Yes,  if  he  is  returned,"  poor  Rose  replied  with 
a  pang,  for  she  felt  how  unlikely  it  was  that  he 
would  come  back,  though,  if  he  did,  she  thought 
things  would  be  different  than  they  had  been,  and 
perhaps — who  knows  ? — they  might  be  walking 
through  those  groves  and  across  those  hills  one  day 
together  on  just  such  a  lovely  evening  as  this  one  ; 
and  visions  of  domestic  happiness  that  seemed  to 
have  vanished  for  ever  would  rise  again  before  the 
wedded  girl  who  had,  as  she  mournfully  said  to 
herself,  turned  her  back  on  her  own  happiness. 


ill 


*  m 


i!ii  :«■:': 


-it ) 

1 

1 

t 

* 

1 

11 

1 

^B 

i^V 

H 

i 

km 

>'i. 

'jM 

i 

i 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 


THE   CLUE  LAID  HOLD   OP. 

EosE  came  home,  and  after  eating  her  solitary 
meal  she  thought  of  Bendite's  siiggestiou  ahout  the 
large  book  where  monsieur  found  the  stories  about 
St.  Elizabeth  of  Ilurgary,  and  after  some  hesita- 
tion ventured  into  the  room  which  was  called  M. 
Lescalle's  study,  and  which  George  hud  used  as  a 
sitting-room. 

Next  to  seeing  persons  the  thought  of  whom  oc- 
cupies us,  the  most  interesting  thing  we  can  do  is 
to  examine  a  room  whicli  they  have  inhabited. 
There  are  so  many  small  but  significant  traces  of 
their  presence.  The  prominent  feature  in  this  one 
was  the  books,  some  of  them  lying  on  the  floor 
open  and  on  their  faces,  others  still  in  the  case, 
some  on  the  table,  some  on  the  chimney.  A  great 
many  sheels  of  paper  scribbled  upon  were  thrust 
into  a  waste-paper  basket.  The  disorder  in  which 
everything  was  left  gave  Rose  some  satisfaction. 
If  George  had  really  gone  a^yay  for  good,  would 
not  he  have  packed  up  his  books  ?  But  perhaps  he 
had  given  directions  to  that  effect.  She  had  not 
the  courage  to  ak  Simon  or  Th^r^son  if  he  had 
done  so. 

Me 


The  Notary s  Daughter, 


247 


Besides  the  books,  there  were  some  materials  for 
drawing  and  painting  in  the  open  case,  and  in  the 
corner  an  nnframod  picture  loosely  wrapped  in 
"brown  paper.  She  took  it  up,  and  found  it  was  a 
landscape  representing  the  Chdtean  de  Valsec,  the 
hereditary  manor  (f  the  Do  Vedelles,  which  tlie 
count  had  sold  in  order  to  purchase  La  Pin^de. 
She  took  the  painting  to  the  window  and  lookel 
with  interest  at  the  view  of  a  place  where  George 
had  spent  his  childhood.  It  was  a  venerable  pile 
of  builJing,  Tory  imposing  in  its  old-fashioncvl 
Btyle,^nd  surrounded  by  tall,  stately  larches  which 
added,  to  its  rather  gloomy  and  aristocratic  gran- 
deur. In  the  corner  of  this  painting  Jacques  de 
Vedelles'  name  was  written.  He  had  told  her  the 
first  day  s^^e  had  seen  hira  that  he  painted  land- 
scape, but  had  never  suocfcded  in  drawing  figures. 

As  she  was  carrying  back  to  the  case  the  view  of 
Valsec  she  happened  to  turn  it  round,  and  found 
that  on  the  other  side  of  the  canvas  there  was  the 
portrait  of  a  woman,  a  most  beautiful  fuce,  with  a 
fine,  dignified,  and  sweet  expression,  which  it  was 
impossilde  not  to  be  struck  with. 

*'  Oh  !  what  a  lovely  countenance,''  Rose  inward- 
ly exclaimed  ;  and  then  she  saw,  at  the  corner  of 
this  painting,  not  Jacques'  name,  but  the  letters 
G.  de  v.,  and  the  date  April  7,  1835. 

That  was  t'lc  day  she  had  been  at  La  Pinede  for 
tlie  first  time.  Suddenly  it  flashed  upon  her  that 
as  she  was  going  away,  and  the  carriage  in  which 
she  was  with  her  narents  was  driving  through  the 
atenue  gate,  she  had  caught  sight  of  a  caleche  %(<^ 


Yi^ 


248 


T/te  Notary's  Daughter, 


ing  up  to  the  chAtean,  in  which  a  beantiful  young 
l^erson  was  sitting  by  ihe  side  of  an  old  man.  SiiO 
roust  be  the  person  he  had  painted  on  the  back 
of  Lis  brother's  picture  of  Valsec;  she  must  bo 
the  person  he  had  cared  for  and  regretted  so  in- 
tensely. Who  was  she  ?  Then  the  idea  of  Mile, 
de  la  Pin6de  suddenly  struck  her;  she  had  heard 
of  her  beauty,  and  what  the  ladies  of  La  Ciotat 
called  her  exaltation. 

On  the  day  that  she  was  walking  listlessly  by  her 
mother's  side  on  the  Tasse,  whilst  Art6mon  Richer 
was  paying  her  compliments,  she  had  heard  some 
one  telling  her  mother  that  the  beantiful  heiress 
at  Toulon,  Mile,  de  la  Pinede,  was  going  to  be  a 
Sister  of  Charity. 

How  often  it  happens  in  life  that  we  hear  at  one 
time  things  said  with  an  utter  indifference  which 
perhaps  at  some  other  period  would  have  stirred 
the  depths  of  our  hearts  with  indescribable  emo- 
tions I  She  guessnd  now,  she  felt  certain,  that  it 
was  Mile,  de  la  Pinede  George  had  so  profoundly 
admired,  so  passionately  loved. 

It  must  be  so.  She  held,  for  a  long  time,  the 
portrait  i.i  her  hand,  and  gazed  at  it  with  deep 
emotion.  She  thought  that  the  heavenly  expres- 
sion of  that  beautiful  face  told  the  story  of  the 
high  vocation  of  the  unearthly  love  which  God  had 
given  to  this  favored  child  of  his  heart.  She  felt 
no  jealousy,  scarcely  a  regret,  tliat  George  should 
have  known  and  loved  and  been  influenced  by  one 
whom  he  must  now  look  upon  as  a  superior  being, 
a  Bort  of  angel  or  saint.   She  compared  the  lines  he 


lif  1 ' 


&  iV 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


249 


had  written,  and  which  she  had  preserved,  with 
the  picture  before  her  eyes,  and  not  a  doubt  could 
exist  in  her  mind  that  the  object  of  his  love  and 
his  reverence  was  Deuiso  de  la  Pin^dc. 

So  engrossed  was  she  with  this  discovery,  and  the 
contemplation  of  the  face  he  had  painted  with  such 
rare  talent  and  exact  fi  lelity,  that  it  was  lonp'  before 
8';e  remembered  the  purpose  with  which  she  had 
entered  that  room.  Rousing  herself  at  last  from 
this  absorbing  preoccupation,  she  began  to  search 
for  the  volume  Bonoite  had  described,  and  soon 
found  it.  That  volume  was  the  life  of  St  Eliza- 
beth of  Hungary,  by  the  Comte  de  Montalcmbert. 

Are  there  not  many  who  at  some  turning-point 
of  their  cxiitence  have  met  with  a  book  which  has 
been  to  them  like  a  revelation,  and  from  the  read- 
ing of  which  they  can  date  an  initiation  into  the 
secrets  of  a  higher  life,  which,  when  it  seemed  hard 
to  discern  light  in  the  future  of  their  cwn  destiny, 
opened  before  them  aims  and  hopes  and  possibili- 
ties never  yet  droamed  of,  heights  they  had  never 
even  in  thought  approached  ? 

This  was  the  effect  produced  on  Rose  by  that 
beautiful  history  of  the  most  lovable  of  saints, 
written  with  all  tlie  mngic  charm  of  brilliant  ge- 
nius unit'id  with  ardent  faith.  It  war  not  so  much 
the  magnificent  language,  the  matchlesj  eloquence 
of  t'  e  great  champion  of  the  Church  in  France, 
which  riveted  and  entranced  her,  as  hour  after 
hour  she  sat  reading  this  new-found  treasure,  as  tlie 
emotions,  the  ideas  as  to  this  world  and  the  next, 
which  it  awoke  in  her  mind.    For  the  first  time 


I'll 


I 


IM 


nsiiiSHyt^ 


250 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


sho  conceivel  what  a  glorious  aud  blessed  tiling 
life  can  be,  even  in  the  midst  of  the  deepest  sor- 
rows, when  once  the  relations  of  the  soul  with  its 
Creator  and  its  Redeemer  have  become  practical 
and  absorbing.  F  r  the  first  time  slie  understood 
to  what  a  degree  human  love  can  bo  purified  and 
exalted  in  two  souls  united  together  in  the  same 
supreme  love.  Never  has  the  imagination  of  man 
portrayed  a  more  touching  i  leal  of  Christian  mar- 
riage than  the  quaint  old  biographers  of  the  dear 
St.  Elizabeth — as  she  was  always  called  in  the  land 
of  her  birth — have  drawn  of  her  univon  witli  that 
model  of  Christian  princes,  the  good  Duke  Louia 
of  Thuringia.  The  minute  details  of  their  domes- 
tic life,  and  of  tbe  tender  attachment  and  sweet 
piety  of  these  wedded  saints,  preluding,  as  it  did, 
his  early  death  in  the  Crusades  and  the  deep  sanc- 
tity of  her  widowhood,  the  p  iciical  and  familiar 
traits  of  t..-.  mutual  affection  of  the  young  be- 
Irolhed  cou[)le,  the  touc-iing  fidelity  of  his  love  for 
her,  aud  her  tender  and  grateful  devotion  to  him, 
selected  and  tiaccd  as  they  are  by  ;i  master's  hand, 
formed  a  picture  which  laid  hold,  as  it  were,  of 
Rose's  heart,  and  seemed  to  call  forth  all  its  latent 
powers  of  thought  aud  feeling.  S<jeds  sown  in  her 
soul  during  the  early  years  she  had  spent  under 
her  Aunt  Mede*s  roof  had  been  lying  dormant, 
ready  to  expand  under  to  ripening  effects  of  suf^ 
foring,  and  now  they  were  about  to  bear  fruit.  As 
Rose  perused  those  eloquent  pages  she  traced  the 
impression  they  had  made  on  another  mind  ;  pencil- 
marks,  and  a  few  words  here  and  there,  revealed  to 


m^ 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


251 


her  what  liad  been  Georje's  tljough  a  as  he  read 
them.      This  agreement,  this  sympathy  between 
them,  struck  her  with  a  mournful  sense  of  what 
mig  t  once  have  been,  and  now  might  never  bi\ 
When  1  e  had  felt  the  full  f  roe  of  some  passage 
descriptive  of  Christian  wedded  love  or  of  exalted 
virtue,  she  had,  no  doubt,  risen  before  his  mind  as 
the  childish,  frivolous  school-girl  s^)e  must  have 
seemed  to  him,  and  the  image  of  D.  nise  de  la  Pi- 
nede  passed  before  his  oycs  as  the  living  type  of 
womanly   perfection.      *-Yes,"  she    mentally  ex- 
claimed, "I  can  feci  for  him,  I  can  pity  him  now, 
I  can  understand  what  his  aversion  must  be  to  the 
worldly,   selfish   girl  he  t:  inks  he  has    mar  ied. 
What  a  strange  fate  ours  has  been  I    But  there 
mu£t  be  a  meaning  in  it.   God  never  does  anything 
or  permits  anything  without  a  purpose  ;  I  have  often 
heard  Aunt  Mede  say  so.    She  would  have  gone 
out  of  her  mind,  she  said,  during  the  Rtign   of 
Terror,  but  for  that  t'  ought.     I  will  go  to  her.  or 
rather  I  will  write  and  ask  her  to  come  to  me.     I 
cannot  leave  this  place ;  George  might  come  back 
any  day.     Oh  !  that  would  be  too  good  to  bo  true. 
If  I  saw  him  coming  in  at  that  gate,  what  should  I 
do  ?    Perhaps  be  again  afraid  of  showing  him  that 
I  love  him.     And  is  it  possible  ?    Do  I  really  love 
him  now  that  he  hates  me  ?" 

As  she  was  asking  herself  this  question  Zon 
kt^ocked  at  tie  door,  and,  on  being  told  to  conn*  in, 
the  aged  handmaid  appeared,  and,  giving  a  con- 
toniptuous  look  at  the  books  scattered  on  the  floor, 
exclaimed  :  *'  Good  gracious,  Mi  ^  Bose  I  what  are 


iilf 


BET 


Nf  P 


I5.1  ,•  .Ji 


25: 


T/ie  Notary's  Daughter. 


ou  doing  hen  sitting  in  the  middle  of  these  dusty 
books  ?  And  reading  by  candlelight,  too.  I  declare 
it  is  enough  to  put  your  eves  out.  Dear  me  !  have 
you  not  learnt  enough  during  the  eight  years  you 
spent  at  school,  that  you  must  be  poring  over  books 
now  that  you  are  grown  up  ?" 

"  It  is  to  amus*^  myself  that  I  read,  Zon." 

"  Ah  1  well,  I  should  think  you  did  want  amuse- 
ment, but  you  noiight  find  something  bettor  to  do 
than  that." 

**  What  would  you  have  me  do  ?  "  j< 

"Why,  go  to  town,  of  course,  and  pay  visits. 
You  have  never  put  on  one  of  your  best  gowns."* 

*' I  cannot  go  and  visit  about  during  my  hus- 
band's absence.'* 

*'  Ah  !  indeed  ;  well,  if  I  was  madame — " 

Zon  did  not  venture  to  express  her  thoughts  in 
words,  but  an  expressive  shrug  of  her  shoulders  was 
significant  enough  of  the  very  low  estimadon  in 
which  she  held  her  young  mistress*  husband. 

"Well,*'  she  said,  "if  madame  won't  go  into 
town,  whv  docs  not  she  invite  her  friends  hire  ?'* 

"  I  do  not  want  to  see  anybody  for  some  days." 

"People  mast  please  themselves,  I  suppose,'* 
Zon  r  joined  in  a  tone  of  resigcation  ;  "  but  if  }ou 
lead  this  sort  of  life  much  longer  I  expect  that  you 
will  go  into  a  decline.  I  don't  know  but  that  it 
would  be  my  duty  to  tell  Madame  Lascalle  what  I 
think  of  it ;  but  if  I  go  to  town  who  would  cook 
madume's  dinner  ?" 

**  I  forbid  you,  Zon,  to  say  anything  about  me  to 
my  mother.     In  a  few  days  I  shall  go  and  soo  her 


warn 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


2S3 


myself.  In  tho  meantime,  dear  old  Zon,  do  not 
meddle  with  what  concerns  no  one  but  myself." 

Rose  went  into  her  bed-room,  taking  with  her 
the  book  which  had  made  so  deep  an  impression 
on  her  mind,  and  one  or  two  more  in  which  she  had 
seen  pencil-marks  and  annotations  in  Ge  i 
hand,  and  others  on  the  blank  loaves  of  whic  Wvi  > 
written  some  unfinished  poems,  which  she  read  wiu) 
a  beating  heart,  for  they  let  her  into  the  secrets  of 
his  soul.  They  contained  allusions  which  mucked 
them  as  his  own  ;  and  now  that  she  knew,  by  Aloys 
de  Belmont's  letter,  that  he  was  a  poet,  she  valued 
every  word,  every  line,  which  gave  her  an  insight 
into  his  character,  a  glimpse  of  his  mind. 

That  day  and  that  night  worked  a  great, change 
in  Rose.  Feelings  of  strong  religious  fervor  had 
been  awakened  in  her,  and,  at  the  same  time,  a 
pure  though  earthly  affection  was  dawning  in  her 
heart.  She  had  discovered  in  the  life  of  St.  Eliza- 
beth of  Hungary  that  these  two  feelings  are  not 
incompa'ible.  A  strange  new  happiness  seemed 
filling  her  soul,  during  the  hours  of  that  sleepless 
night,  which. the  foresight  of  suffering  did  not  in- 
terfere with.  Hers  might  be  a  sad  fate  in  tho  eyes 
of  the  world.  It  might  be  Grod's  will  that  the 
cloud  which  hung  over  her  future  life  was  never  to 
be  dissipated,  that  ho  whom  she  now  felt  she  could 
have  dearly  loved  might  never  care  for  her,  never 
return  to  her  ;  but  slie  now  discerned  something 
higher  and  greater  than  earthly  love,  than  earthly 
happiness.  That  light  which  sometimes  breaks 
slowly  on  the  mind  after  long  yearsi  sometimes 


i 

- 

\ 

rA 

M  ■ 

I 

!■  '■ 

' 

254 


The  Notary  s  Daughter* 


af^cr  a  lifetime,  of  conflict  and  triul,  illumiDates 
others  at  once  in  the  momini^  of  their  days,  not  al- 
ways permanently  or  consistently,  but  it  shines  on 
tho  mountain-tops  even  whilst  the  upward  path  ia 
encompassed  by  dark  s'jades.  Such  was  the  case 
in  this  instance.  Tlie  clue  had  been  laid  hold  of 
and  clutched  by  that  young  hand,  which  erewhilo 
was  helplessly  stretched  out  in  the  midst  of  unfa- 
thomable gloom.  The  hour  when  we  can  look  for- 
ward to  a  life  of  suffering,  of  solitude,  or  of  sacri- 
fice, with  a  thrill  of  supernatural  joy,  is  often  the 
turning-point  in  our  lives. 

When,  three  days  afterwards.  Rose  ran  out  to 
meet  her  Aunt  Mede,  whom  she  had  urgently  in- 
vited to  come  and  see  her,  the  penetrating  eyes  of 
the  old  lady  perceived  that  a  change  had  come 
over  her  d  irling  niece.  The  soft,  smiling,  childish 
f-ice  was  paler  than  she  had  ever  seen  it ;  the  dark 
blue  eyes  had  an  earnest  look  such  as  she  had 
never  observed  in  them  before.  Even  in  the  sound 
of  her  voice  there  was  something  differrut  from  its 
us^al  tone.  SX  first  they  spoke  of  indifferent 
things,  as  people  do  who  arc  longing  and  yet  afraid 
to  begin  an  important  conversation ;  and  then 
Rose  took  her  aunt,  up-stairs  to  tho  room  next  her 
own,  which  she  had  prepared  for  her,  and  made  her 
sit  down  in  an  arm-chair  near  tho  open  window, 
and,  as  she  used  to  do  in  her  childliood,  placed  her- 
self on  a  stool,  at  her  feet,  her  sweet  face  looking 
up  into  that  kind,  aged  face  which  looked  down 
upon  her  so  calmly  and  so  wistfully.  Mis6  Med6 
longed  to  ask,  **  Are  you  happy,  my  darling  ?  "  but 


■     II"!! 


-i::i:.,: 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


255 


she  did  not  feel  confidence  enough  that  the  ques- 
tion could  be  answered  affirmuUvely  to  do  so. 

"I  supjwse  your  husband  is  takiwg  one  of  those 
long  walks,"  she  said,  "  which  you  wrote  to  me  he 
liked  so  much.  Will  he  come  home  for  dinner  ?  I 
want  to  make  real  acquainlance  with  my  nephew.** 

Two  large  tears  rolled  down  Rose's  cheeks,  and  a 
sudden  flash  gave  them  a  deep  color.  "  Aunt 
Mede,  I  have  so  much  to  tell  you,  so  much  to  ask 
you.  My  mind  is  full  of  new  thoughts,  and  such 
strange,  different  feeling?,  I  hardly  know  how  to 
begin  telling  you  what  has  happened." 

'*  Happened,  my  child  ?  What  caa  have  hap- 
pened to  you  ?  " 

"  George  has  left  mo  ! " 

*•  Left  you  ?  Good  heavens,  Rose  !  what  do  you 
mean?     When?    How?" 

"  F.  ur  days  ago." 

*'  And  where  has  he  gone  ?" 

"  To  Marseille.-." 

"With  whom?" 

**  1  am  not  quite  sure,  but  I  think  he  is  staying 
with  a  friend  of  his,  a  M.  dc  Belmont." 

*'  My  dear  child,  you  should  not  have  suffered 
him  to  leave  you,"  Mis6  Mede  said,  with  a  look  of 
uneasiness.  "Who  knovs  if  he  is  callable  of 
taking  care  of  himself  ?  " 

"Aunt  M6d6,"  Rose  exclaimed,  "you,  and  all 
of  us,  and  his  own  family,  hr.ve  made  a  great  mis- 
take about  George — an  extraordinary  mistake — 
which  I  liuve  found  ou*»  too  late.  Oh  1  yes,  too 
late." 


m 


2S6 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


And  bursting  into  tears,  Rose  hid  her  face  on 
her  aunt's  knees. 

'^  Speak,  my  child  !  You  frighten  me.  Is  he 
quite  out  of  bis  mind  ?  '* 

"  Oh  !  no,  Aunt  Med 6,  l5e  is  not  a  bit  out  of  his 
mind.  Ho  is  full  of  goodness  and  cleverness.  He 
is  one  whom  a  woman  could  most  dearly  love  and 
admire  ;  and  if  on  the  day  we  were  married  I  had 
not  shown  that  I  hated  and  despised  him — it  was 
before  you  came  back  and  talked  to  mc,  Aunt 
Mede — I  m'glifc  have  been  the  happiest  of  wives. 
But  now  it  is  all  over  with  that  kind  of  happiness." 

She  paused,  but,  seeing  her  old  aunt's  intense 
anxiety,  she  went  on  : 

"  As  soon  as  wc  arrived  here  he  gave  me  this  let- 
ter." 

She  placed  it  in  Mademoiselle  Leecalle's  hands, 
and,  when  she  had  read  it,  said  : 

"  He  has  acted  up  to  what  he  wrote.  For  form's 
sake  he  remained  here  till  last  Monday,  but  we 
hardly  spoke  to  one  another  ;  and  then  I  think  it 
was  because  ho  saw  me  looking  so  unhappy,  and 
thought  I  could  not  bear  the  sight  of  him,  that  he 
went  away,  and  I  shall  never  see  him  again.'* 

**  That  does  not  follow,"  Aunt  Med6  said,  and 
seemed  for  a  few  moments  buried  in  thought, 
"  But  what  besides  this  letter — which  is  indeed  a 
proof  that  he  is  far  from  being  the  sort  of  person 
we  supposed — has  made  you  tuink  him  clever,  as 
70U  say  }on  did  not  speak  together  hardly  at  all  ?'* 

Then  Rose,  in  an  artless  and  touching  manner, 
told  Mis^  M6d6  of  Q-eorge's  conversations  with  Be- 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


257 


ndite,  related  to  her  by  the  little  ehepheixless ;  of 
the  verses  she  had  seen  him  write,  and  those  she 
had  found  in  liis  books ;  of  the  portrait  he  had 
painted  of  Mile,  dc  la  Pin6dc,  and  his  romantic 
dcvoiion  to  h.er.  And  then,  word  for  word,  she 
repeated  what  Toinette  had  told  lier  of  his  visits 
and  theii  conversations;  and  last,  not  least,  of  M. 
dc  Belmont's  letter,  which  had  tlirown  light  on  the 
strange  and  fatal  mistake  of  those  who  had  mis- 
taken the  languor  of  11  a  overwrought  brain  and  the 
fanciful  necaliarities  of  a  poetic  nature  for  proofs 
of  mental  deficiency  and  disordered  understanding. 

**I  see  it  all,"  Mile.  Lescalle  slowly  ejaculated. 
*^  It  may  all  come  right,  Rosy;  but  0,  my  dar- 
ling !  if  you  knew  how  my  old  heart  aches  at  the 
thought  of  what  you  have  had  to  suffer,  and  may 
still  suffer,  my  own  f)oor  darling  child  1 "  Then 
Mi£6  Mede's  self-command  gave  way,  and  tdars 
coursed  down  her  wrinkled  cheeks.  Rose  took  her 
hands  in  hers,  and,  looking  at  her  earnestly,  said  : 

"Aunt  Mode,  don't  cry.  Yuu  will  not  grieve 
when  I  have  told  you  all  I  feel  and  think.  When 
wo  both  thought  on  niy  wedding-day  that  I  was 
bound  for  life  to  a  fada^  tliough  we  tried  to  make 
the  best  of  it,  that  was  a  sorrow  which  had  some- 
thing of  shame  iu  it,  and  then,  though  I  wished  to 
be  .good,  I  h'ld  no  idea,  I  did  r.ot  understand,  what 
you  must  know  so  well.  Aunt  Mode — that  there  is 
a  way  of  beitig  good  which  is  not  the  common 
way,  and  that  in  it  suffering  and  joy  can  be  strangely 
blended^^" 

Rose  gtopped,   overcome  by  her  feelings,  au4 


.4 

'  -.;  '. 

f'^TT?  ii!r 

Ifl 

^ 

2$^ 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


looked  r.p  at  ibe  sky  with  an  expression  in  Lcr  face 
which  revealed  to  Aunt  Med6  the  work  of  divine 
grano  which  had  taken  place  in  tha.t  young  soul. 
She  elov/ly  took  up  the  words  Rose  had  uttered, 
and  said  : 

"  So  strangely  blended,  my  child,  that  a  heart 
broken  with  the  deepest  human  sorrow  may  s  ill 
know  a  happiness  which  is  indeed  a  foretaste  of 
heaven.  But  tell  me  how  you  have  learnt  this 
blessed  secret  ?  By  what  means  have  you  dis- 
covered it  ?"  g 

'^  Toinqi;te*s  words,  and  what  she  said  ol  all 
George  had  done  for  her,  first  gave  me  »u  idea  that 
one  might  be  very  unhappy  one's  self,  and  yet  hnd 
happiness  in  loving  God  and  doing  good  to  others. 
But  what  explained  it  to  me  was  this  book." 

She  had  brought  with  her  St.  Elizabeth's  lifs, 
and  laid  it  on  the  knees  of  her  aunt,  whose  eyes 
glistened  when  the  saw  it. 

'*  Ah  1  my  child,  you  understood  as  you  read 
these  pages — they  are  very  familiar  to  me,  Rosy — 
for  the  first  time  you  understood  what  it  is  to  be  a 
Siint?"  Rose  nodded  assent.  "And  then  came 
the  thought  that  to  aim  at  sanctity,  ai.d  by  dint  of 
euflcrings  and  sacrifices  to  climb  the  steep  ascent 
which  leads  to  it,  might  be  a  greater,  deeper  joy 
than  any  this  wca'ld  can  give  ?'*  Rose  again  bowed 
her  head  and  remained  a  moment  silent.  Then 
she  said  :  • 

**Aunt  M6d^,  if  you  knew  to  what  a  degree  1 
feel  this  I  I  sec  two  pa.ths  before  me.  rhave  no 
clear  idea  whioh  God  meims  me  to  follow.    I  I^ve 


■VPfl 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


259 


that  to  him."  And  again  Kose  looke<1  upward,  and 
join'-d  together  her  hands,  which  rested  on  Aunt 
Mode's  knoes.  "What  1  mean  is  that  I  see  two 
kinds  of  life  wLich  he  may  intend  for  me." 

**Tell  me  wliat  you  are  thinking  of,  my  child." 
''Well,  Aunt  Mede,  it  is  possible,  is  it  no*,  that 
George  may  return,  ai:d  that  he  may  s  }me  day  find 
out  that  he  can  love  me,  as  I  have  found  out  that 
I  can  love  him,  and  then  that  we  might  be  happy 
together,  and  love  God  and  serve  him  together,  like 
the  good  Dnke  Louis  and  the  dear  St.  Elizabeth  ? 
But  if  he  docs  not  come  back,  and  if  he  never  cares 
for  me  at  all,  then  my  life  would  be  like  hers  after 
her  husband's  death.  I  would  live  with  you, 
dearest  Aunt  M6de,  or  here,  perhaps — if  my  parents 
would  let  me  remain  here  amidst  these  beautiful 
mountains,  and  the  poor  people  scattered  about 
this  place,  nursing  the  sick,  teaching  the  children, 
and  praying  in  the  village  churches.  I  did  not 
know  till  quite  lately,  till  these  few  last  days,  what 
prayer  meant.  I  used  to  say  my  prayers,  and  T 
knew  our  Lord  was  in  the  tabernacle  on  the  altar, 
but  not  as  I  now  know  and  feel  it.  Oh  I  what  a 
wonderful  change  comes  over  one  wV.en  this  is  once 
realized.  Which  of  these  two  kinds  of  lives  would 
be  best,  do  you  think.  Aunt  Mede  ?'* 

''In  themselves,  my  child,  and  for  those  bound 
by  n  )  duty  and  no  indissoluble  tie,  a  life  devoted 
to  God  and  to  the  po  r  is,  without  doubf,  the  most 
easy  and  straight-  road  to  heaven.  If  yours  is  to 
prove  an  exceptional  fate,  if,  though  married,  you 
are  irretrievably  separated  from  him  whose  name 


m 


260 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


you  bear,  then  you  may  believe  thaf.  what  God  will 
have  permitted  is  intended  to  be  the  means  of 
raising  you  to  a  more  than  ordinary  perfection., 
But  remember,  my  child,  that  yours  is  not  a  case 
in  which  you  can  be  allowed  to  chpose  between 
these  two  kinds  of  lives.  There  is  no  choice  for 
you  in  the  matter." 

**  Pa-haps  not,  Aunt  MeJ6;  still,  it  might  de- 
pend a  little  on  what  I  felt  and  did.'* 

"  What  you  must  feel  and  what  you  must  do, 
Rose,  is  not  optional.  The  vow  you  pronounced 
at  the  altar,  the  union  which  received  the  blessing 
of  the  Church,  is  not  cancelled  by  what  has  ^ince 
occurred.  You  have  a  responsibility  with  regard 
to  the  soul  of  your  husband  from  which  nothing 
can  relieve  you.  You  must  not  acquiesce  in  his 
forsaking  you,  even  in  order  to  lead  a  life  of  what 
seems  (0  you  higher  perfection.  The  most  perfect 
life  for  Christians  is  that  in  which  God  has  placed 
t')em,  and  your  duty  is  clear  and  evident." 

"  Is  it  ?  I  have  felt,  on  the  contrary,  so  per- 
plexed how  to  act." 

*'How  to  act  may  be  a  question,  but  the  inten- 
tion of  your  acts  should  not  bo  doubtful.  You 
must  leave  nothing  undono  to  undeceive  your  hus- 
band as  to  your  feelings  towards  him.  You  must 
let  him  know  that  you  can,  that  you  do,  love  him — " 

"  Let  a  man  who  hates  me  know  that  I  care  for 
him,  and  that  after  he  has  made  it  plain  that  he 
despises  me  ?" 

*•  Is  it  the  Rope  who  has  been  opening  her  heart 
to  me  that  he  despises  ?    Does  he  know  her  ?    Hag 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


261 


he  had  any  opp<)rtuaity  of  reading  into  her  soul  ? 
But  even  if  he  had,  if  he  had  cousciously  and  de- 
liberately rejected  the  wife  God  has  given  him,  ifc 
would  still  be  your  duty,  patiently,  sweetly,  ua- 
weariedly,  to  pray,  to  strive,  to  long  for  his  return, 
never  to  give  up  the  hope  of  it,  and,  whilst  rising 
daily  higher  in  the  upward  path  to  which  God's 
grace  is  calling  you,  to  hold  out  to  him  the  hand 
which  was  given  liim  on  your  marriage- day,  and 
trust  to  the  end  that  your  strong  and  patient  love 
— the  love  of  a  Christian  wife,  not  the  fondness  of 
a  frivolous  woman — will  at  last  recall  him  to  your 
side  and  draw  him  to  God.*' 

*' From  the  notes  in  his  books,  and  liis  verses. 
Aunt  Mede,  I  should  think  George  was  nearer  to 
God  than  I  am." 

**  It  may  be  so,  my  child.  We  cannot  judge  of 
others  in  that  rcspcc',  even  when  well  acquainted 
with  tlicm,  and  I  do  not  know  your  husband  at  all ; 
but  I  do  not  reckon  religious  poetical  effusions  as 
any  proof  of  a  real  and  firm  faith.  Those  who 
liave  read  Victor  Hugo  and  Laraartine's  verc-es  in 
their  early  days  know  in  what  admirable  language 
pious  emotions  can  be  poured  forth,  and  yet  hew 
little  real  religion  may  inspire  them." 

"0  Aunt  M6(le  !  I  have  seen  some  of  their 
writings  amotigst  George's  books,  and  found  beau- 
tiful tlinga  in  them,  but  they  xlid  not  help  me  as  I 
now  want  to  bo  helped.  It  was  like  drinking  wine 
too  strong  foi^my  head,  or  smelling  a  too  powerful 
perfume.  When  I  read  tlm  book,  I  feel  as  if  I  was 
breathing  mountaia  air,'*. 


i 


;.-l»..it.i'l^ 


262 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


**Feed  on  tliat  kind  of  air,  Rosy,"  Mrc.  Lss- 
calle  s:iiil,  with  a  smile.  ''Brace  yourself  with  it 
in  preparation  for  whatever  God  may  app>int  to 
your  lot,  I  begin  to  think  that  my  Rose,  the  chil  I 
of  my  heart,  is  going  to  be  one  of  those  valiant 
women  whom  the  Scriptures  speak  of,  and  I  do  nob 
give  up  the  hope  of  a  little  earthly  happiness  fv)r 
her  either,  if  she  will  be  brave  and  patient.  We 
need  not  despair  at  all  that  everything  will  come 
right.  You  and  your  husband  are  very  young,  two 
children  in  fact,  who  have  been  nii^managcd  by 
others,  and  then,  left  to  yourselves,  mismanaged 
one  anothef  We  must  see  now  what  is  best  to  be 
done.  You  .just  let  me  think  and  pray  about  it. 
An  hour  or  two  on  my  knees  will  help  me  to  a 
good  thought." 

Rose  threw  her  arms  round  iier  old  aunt*i{  neck, 
aiid  kissed  her  ac  she  used  to  do  in  her  childhood 
when  Mise  M6de  made  everything  straight  for  her. 

"I  will  leave  you  alone  for  a  while,"  she  said, 
almost  gaily;  "but  don't  pray  too  long,  Aunfc 
;Mede,  for  now  I  huvc  begun  I  want  to  tell  you 
much  more  about  w!;at  I  think,  and  wish,  and 
mean  to  do,  whether — "  She  stopped.  It  was  easy 
to  read  tho  thoughts  that  were  passing  through  her 
mind,  an  i  the  connection  between  those  words  and 
the  next  she  uttered.  **  Toinette,  you  Know,  said 
George  was  very  goo4.  It  was  he  who  made  ner 
forgive  people  and  love  God,  and  M.  de  Bulmont 
wrote  to  him  that  why  ho  likcu  hiqi  so  much  at 
college  was  because  he  was  so  kind  to  every  ono  ; 
and  you  know,  Aunt  Med6,  that  I  think,  I  really 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


263 


do  think,  tBat  in  going  away  and  leaving  me 
he  thought  he  was  doing  right  and  what  was  btdt 
for  me/' 

"  Very  likely  he  did.  Rosy,  and  we  must  find  out 
the  best  way  of  undeoeiving  him  on  that  point. 
And  now  your  cheeks  are  paler  than  I  like  to  see 
them,  my  child ;  put  on  your  hat  and  go  and 
breathe  some  of  that  mountain  air  you  are  so  fond 
of,  amidst  tlie  wild  iliynie  and  Bjuoite's  goats. 
No,  don't  take  a  book  with  you.  Ljok  at  the  sky 
and  the  flowers,  gladilen  your  heart  witli  the 
thought  of  Him  who  miido  them  and  you,  and 
leave  the  future  in  his  hands." 

"  Yes,  Aunt  M6d6 ;  and  the  road  up  the  hill 
leads  to  Toinette'K  cabin.    I  will  pay  her  a  visit." 

A  moment  afterwards  Mile.  Lescalle  saw,  from 
her  window.  Rose  crossing  the  garden,  carrying  a 
baskut  on  her  arm  and  sfnging  George^s  hymn  to 
S^  Elizabeth.  She  watched  her  graceful  form, 
her  light  step,  ana  listened  to  the  sweet  young 
voice  carolling  away  as  she  disappeared  amongst 
the  trees,  with  a  grateful  sense  that,  come  what 
might,  the  child  of  her  heart  had  discovered  the 
road  to  true  happiness. 


-v  r- 


I 


CEAPTER   XIX. 


AN    EMERGENCY. 

The  result  of  Miso  M  'd^'s  though cs  and  prayers 
was  that  she  wrote  that  evening  a  long  letter  to  a 
dear  friend  of  hers  at  MarseiHes,   one   of   those 
women  whom  people  instinctively  turn  to  when  a 
difficult  thing  has  to  be  done  or  a  great  act  of 
kindness  to  be  performed — one  of  those  energetic, 
large-hearted  FreKch  souls  who  carry  everything 
before  them,  and  work  wonders  with  a  marvellous 
ease    and   singular  simplicity.      Later  on  Mile. 
Amelie  Lautard  was  decorated  with  the  Cross  of 
the  Legion  of  Honor.    So  great  and  obvious  was 
her  influence  for  good  over  the  soldiers  at  Mar- 
seilles, amongst  whom  she  indefatigably  labored, 
that,  in  ccnsiderai  ion  of  her  services,  the  Minister 
of  War,  under  the  empire,  granted  her  the  privi- 
lege of  shortening,  at  her  discretion,   in  certain 
cases,  the  term  of  military  punishment. 

But  at  the  time  we  are  writing  of  her  career  of 
charitable  work  was  at  its  outset.  Her  father  had 
been  intimately  acquainted  with  Mile.  Lescalle, 
and  she  had  always  remained  in  correspondence 
with  the  little  Amelie  she  had  known  and  loved  as 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


265 


a  child.  After  many  anxious  reflecfc'ons,  she  de- 
termined to  tell  her  the  whole  stoiy  of  Rosu's  mar- 
riage and  of  George's  unrequited  attachment  to 
Mile,  do  la  Pin^de,  now  Soeur  Denise  at  the  House 
of  Charity  of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul.  She  knew, 
through  Mile.  Lautard,  that  this  young  girl  had 
been  sta}ing  a  short  time  before  at  the  Chdteau  do 
la  Pincde,  and  that  she  had  felt  interested  in 
George  de  Vedelles,  wl>ose  isolation  in  the  midst  of 
his  family,  and  deep  melancholy,  had  painfully 
struck  her.  S  jo  thought  that  Ml'e.  Lautard 
might  sound  Soeur  Denise  on  the  subj  ct,  and  gain 
from  her  some  information  as  to  his  character  and 
state  of  mind  which  would  furnish  a  clue  to  the 
most  effectual  means  of  bringing  about  his  return 
to  his  wife  and  a  good  understanding  between 
them.  Mis§  Mede  was  much  puzzled  herself  as  to 
the  real  truth  about  George.  On  the  one  hand, 
she  had  heard  it  positively  stated  that  his  intellect 
was  weak  and  his  character  childish.  It  seemed 
strange  that  his  own  parents,  his  clever  father  and 
his  loving  mother,  should  have  been  deceived  on 
that  point ;  and  though  all  that  Rose  had  related 
and  shown  to  her  militated  strongly  against  these 
preconceived  impressions^  it  had  not. quite  destroy- 
ed them.  T:;cn  Thcrcson  also  had  burst  into  the 
room  where  Mile.  Lescalle  was  meditating  on 
these  conflicting  accounts,  and,  finding  at  last  a 
vent  for  the  ire  which  had  been  accumulating  in  her 
soul  during  the  last  weeks,  poured  forth  unmitigat- 
ed expressions  of  indignation  against  M.  lo  Baron, 
whom  she  described  as  a  sort  of  savage  idiot,  whom 


w*\ 


\ 

'*'     1;     ^ 

i 


I 


I  : 


tttf 


266 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


it  "ouW  be  \vell  if  Mis6  Rose  had  never  seen,  far 
less  mairied,  and  who  would  have  deserved  to 
havo  had  Benoitc  for  his  wife.  They  would  ha^ie 
been  a  well-matched  pair— she  with  her  foolish 
gibberish  and  wild-cat  ways,  and  he  with  his 
rude,  gloomy,  and  silent  manner. 

In  vain  did  Mile.  Loscalle  try  to  check  this  tor- 
rent of  abase.  She  could  understand  that  under 
the  circumstances  Zon  m'ght  be  justified  m  her 
aversion  to  George,  and  some  of  the  things  she 
said  made  some  impression  on  her  own  mind. 
The  doubt  was  whether,  with  some  amount  of  ap« 
parent  ability  when  he  held  a  pen  in  his  hand,  he 
was  not  incapable  of  acting  rationally,  or  even  tak- 
ing care  of  himself,  in  which  case  it  would  be  neces- 
sary to  communicate  with  his  parents  and  with 
Rose's  father  and  mother,  at  the  risk  of  estranging 
him  for  ever  from  her,  or,  on  the  other  hand,  of 
trying  other  means  of  bringing  them  together,  re« 
moving  misconceptions,  and  appealing  to  his  sense 
of  honor  and  duty.  She  came  to  t'iC  conclusion 
that  this  ought  to  be  attempted,  if  possible,  and 
that  Mile.  Lautard  might  not  only  consult  Soeur 
Bcnise,  but  seek  out  also  M.  de  Belmont,  with 
wliom  she  hoped  George  was  still  residing,  and 
find  out  from  him  the  real  truth  about  his  college 
friend. 

Such  was  the  purport  of  the  letter  she  wrote  and 
sent  that  evening.  During  the  following  days  she 
devoted  herself,  with  the  tact  and  ability  which  be- 
longed to  her  character,  to  keep  Rose's  mind  oc- 
cupiei  with  cheering  and  strengthening  tljoughts, 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


267 


to  excite  lur  to  lioi^e,  and  yet  to  iirej-are  licr  for  dis- 
appointment. They  prayed  and  tuey  read  to- 
gether, visited  Toinette,  aod  found  out  other  poor 
people  in  the  neiglibrliood  sadly  in  want  both  of  a 
little  help  and  of  moral  antl  religious  instruction. 
A  new  world,  that  of  practical  cliarity,  seemed 
opening  to  the  yonng  gid,  who  had  so  rapidly  grown 
from  u  child  into  a  woman.  It  was  a  aingular 
blessing  for  hier,  during  those  days  of  unt;crtaiuty, 
that  she  was  experiencing  those  Orst  fervors  of 
awakened  faith  in  aad  love  of  God  which  (ill  tho 
£0«i  with  a  strange  sweetness  and  almost  lift  it 
above  earthly  cans  and  Joys,  and  that  she  was 
guided  at  that  time  by  one  so  clear-sighted  and 
thoroughly  sensible  as  Mi^c  M^dc,  The  thought 
had  crosed  lier  mind  tliat  her  niece  miglit,  like 
herself,  perhaps  be  called  - './  a  life  of  entire  conse- 
cration to  God  and  tho  full  practice  of  the  evan- 
gelical counsels.  S'.e  remembered  how,  when  she 
vus  Rose's  age,  aod  the  world  was  smiling  upon 
her  and  life  looking  very  bright  and  fair,  a  cloud, 
small  at  first,  like  a  man's  hand,  hud  appeared  in 
the  horizon  in  the  shape  of  the  first  news  and  ru- 
mors of  revolutionary  distiirbuucea  in  tl\e  neighbor- 
hood. The  great  events  which  had  convulsed  her 
country  seemed  at  first  to  have  little  to  do  with  the 
prospects  and  tho  destiny  of  a  young  girl  in  tho 
middling  ranks  of  life,  but  the  storm  went  on  dis- 
turbing and  at  last  darkening  every  part  of  France, 
and  bringing  tho  scafl;old  within  sight  of  the  hum- 
ble iiomcs  of  t'ic  bourgeome  as  well  us  the  nobility. 
Then  war  to  religion  was  declared,  that  war  to  the 


268 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


knife  which  rouses  the  soul  to  sacriQce,  to  action, 
to  heroism,  and  then  Mile.  Lcscallo  understood 
what  God's  voice  was  saying  to  her  heari, ;  she  un- 
derstood what  was  Jier  vocation,  not  the  peaceful 
cloister — convents  were  everywhere  closed  and  com- 
munities dispersed — but  the  religioas  life  h\  herown 
threatened  home  ;  iho  religious  life  in  its  essence, 
the  religious  vows,  in  its  work  amongst  the  poor,. 
tLi^.  prisoners,  tbo  dying,  at  the  foot  of  the  scaffold, 
in  the  ftell  of  the  condemned,  in  the  caves  and  gar- 
rets where  Mass  was  said  in  sr crefc,  in  the  perilous 
services  rendered  to  a  faifchfni  outlavred  priesthood. 
She  embraced  (his  life  with  unflinching  zeal. 
She  thanked  God  tn.i-t  he  had  cast  her  lot  in  those 
dark  days.  She  met  dangers  which  bi*ought  her 
within  an  inch  of  death,  and  often  felt  that  noth- 
ing }>?s  tii'.n  the  complete  consecration  whicli 
severs  it  o  le  stroke  the  heart  fro^m  all  merely  hu- 
man joys  could  have  borne  her  unscathnd  througk 
the  iiery  furnace  of  that  terrible  time.  And  now 
she  asked  herself,  "  "Was  it  God's  will  that  Eoso 
should  walk  in  her  steps  ?  Had  he  assigned  to  her 
a  peculiar  destiny,  in  order  that,  bearing  tlie  name 
of  a  wife,  she  should  be,  as  she  herself  had  been,  a 
religiouD  in  life  and  heart  ?  Was  that  her  vocation,, 
strangely  brought  about,  strangely  accomplished  ?'^ 
She  watched  her  without  seeming  to  do  so.  She 
pounded  her  heart  as  they  sat  conversing  under  the 
pines  or  strolling  along  the  mountain  paths.  She 
observed  the  changes  of  her  countenance,  and  no- 
ticed little  acts  which  would  have  escaped  a  less 
penetrating  «nd  loving  cy^,  and  soon  made  up  her 


T}te  Notary's  Daughter, 


269 


mind  t';at,  whether  her  liusband  returned  to  her  or 
not,  Eosc  was  not  called  to  tread  the  path  she  her- 
self had  trodden,  not  e?eii  amidst  calmer  scenes  and 
brighter  days. 

Many  little  indications  showed  her  that  her  heart 
■was  not  free  ;  that  not  oi.ly  had  she  discovered  that 
George  do  VMelles  was  one  a  woraun  could  love, 
but  that  she  iiad  fallen  in  lovo  witli  him  siiice  the 
day  she  lijid  wiilrsuch  terrible  reluctance  become 
hi3  wife  and  he  had  rejected  her.  If  for  a  little 
while  they  spoke  of  anything  else,  she  would  al- 
ways revert  to  Bomcthing  reUiting  to  Idm — lo  his 
books,  his  verses,  his  painting^!,  or  to  the  remarks 
she  had  heard  him  make  on  the  surround ing 
Hcenery,  to  the  Sisters  of  Charity,  and  Soeur  do  la 
Pineue,  and  Valseo,  hid  parents,  and  his  friends, 
Ben^'to  and  Toinette. 

S'.e  saw  her  kneeling  before  the  tabernacle  pray- 
ing with  intense  fervor,  her  (yes  filling  with  tears, 
and  her  little  hands  clasped  together.  When  she 
came  out  of  the  r.hurch  there  was  a  sweet  and 
peaceful  expression  i-i  her  face,  but  Aunt  M6d6 
noticed  that  she  went  and  sat  on  a  bench  from 
whence  tlie  road  could  be  farthest  seen,  and  gazed 
wistfully  upon  it.  When  in  the  house,  if  the  gate 
was  h^ard  to  open,  her  eyes  turned  towards  it  with 
a  rapid  glance. 

Then,  again.  Mile,  de  la  Pinede's  picture  was 
placed  in  Rose's  own  room.  With  some  women, 
perhaps,  this  would  seem  a  proof  rather  of  indif- 
ference *.han  of  lore,  but  M's6  Mede  knew  her 
niece'is  humble,  tender,  allectibnate  character^  and 


1. 1 


2/0 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


%W\ '',' 


fe'.t  certain  that  it  would  be  free  from  j  ulougy  and 
loTingly  attracted  by  all  that  one  she  loyed  cared 
for.  "  lb  cannot  but  come  right,"  she  said  to  her- 
self^ and  almost  as  impatiently  as  Rose  looked  for 
the  postman's  arrival  on  the  day  slic  expectvd  an 
answer  from  Marseilles. 

When  the  postman,  two  days  if ler wards?,  called 
at  Belbotisquet  ho  l;ad  only  one  letter  to  Icaye,  and 
it  was  not  addpe^^sed  to  Mile.  L?scallc,  but  to  the 
Baronne  George  d(j  V6delU;s,  Hose  was  sitting  at 
brcalilast  opposite  to  Aunt  Mede  when  Zson  laid  it 
on  the  table.  She  turned  red,  acd  then  pale,  and 
her  hands  trembled  so  much  ihat  ebe  could  hurdiy 
unseal  the  envelope,  "^^lle.  Lescallo  watched  her 
with  anxiety,  and  ft  «.he  news  was  bad  before 
Rose  had  finished  reading  the  letter,  which  she 
ban  .'ed  to  her  iu  silence.    This  is  what  George  had 


written : 


My  5)EikR  Hose:  It  will  hardly  surprise  yon  to 
hear  that  I  am  about  to  embark  with  my  friend, 
M.  do  Belmont,  on  board  liis  uncle's  ship,  which  la 
going  to  cruise  for  two  years  runongst  the  South 
Sea  Islands.  1"  liavo  written  to  my  brother  to  re- 
quest him  to  break  this  to  my  motherand  announce 
it  to  my  fatheiv  As  I  am  cf  age,  I  have  a  right  to 
act  on  mj  own  judgment,  and  I  am  persuaded  Ihat 
for  them,  for  you,  and  fov  raycclf  I  am  doing  what 
is  best  and  wiseif. 

I  have  been  .for  some  ycai-s  a  source  of  '5orrow  and 
anxiety  to  nsy  parents,  and  often  a  cause  of  dissen- 
sion between  tl;em.  Jacqncp  w  u.  ^  'xU'^  ly  be  elect- 
ed dopnty,  I  hear,  thanka  s.c  ^c ■\s- i^^^^^^  'xortions. 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


271 


and  in  his  new  position  and  interests  they  will  find 
a  compensation  for  my  absence,  if;  indeed,  any  is 
needed. 

As  to  you,  poor  child,  on  whom  was  thrust  the 
saddest  of  all  destinies,  a  union  with  one  whora  you 
could  not  look  on  without  detestation,  I  hope  that 
life  will  still  have  some  charms,  though  I  admit 
that  your  fat j  is  a  melancholy  one.  I  have  begged 
my  father  and  my  brother  to  arrange  with  your 
parents  all  that  regards  my  fortune,  which  I  wish 
to  leave  entirely  to  you,  with  the  exception  of  a 
small  annuity,  which  will  snflSce  for  ray  wants  and 
tastes. 

We  sail  on  Saturday  morning,  and  in  taking 
leiive  of  France  and  all  I  have  ever  known  or  cared 
for,  my  chief  hopo  and  prayer  are  that  you,  who^e 
existence  I  have  involuntarily  bliglitcd,  may  still 
enjoy  peaceful  aud  happy  days.  If  I  was  an  infi- 
del, or  a  philosoplicr  of  the  school  of  our  modern 
I'ovelists,  I  would  gladly  put  myself  altogelher  out 
of  your  way ;  but  as  I  am  a  C  nistian,  hough  a 
very  imperfect  one,  we  must  each  bear  our  separate 
burthens,  and  drag  on  life  ns  best  we  may. 

May  God  bless  you,  Rose.    Sincerely  youri, 

Geoege  de  Yedejulbb. 

Aunt  Med6  pushed  the  spectacles  oil  her  nose 
when  she  had  read  this  letter,  and  ejaculated, 
**  Foolish  boy  I "  Bose,  who  was  013  inj^,  enatchod 
it  from  her  and  said  :  **  No,  not  foolish,  Annt 
M6dc.  It  is  a  very  generous  and  kind  letter,  only 
— only  it  breaks  my  heart." 

"  There  is  no  need  at  all  for  aoy  heart-breaking. 


272 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


Billy  cliilJ.  Even  if  we  cannot  stop  tiie  departure 
of  M.  le  Buron,  and  if  he  was  to  remain  two  years 
iu  the  South  Seas,  that  would  not  be  the  world's 
end,  nor  jour  life's  end,  either.  You  are,  let  me 
see,  not  much  more  than  seventeen.  Dear  me  !  per- 
haps that  is  the  host  thing  he  could  have  done.  He 
may  come  back  before  you  arc  twenty,  and  you  will 
both  be  wiser  then." 

"Two  years.  Aunt  Med6,  two  years  would  be 
like  two  centuries.  0  dear  Aunt  M^d6  I  cun't  we 
stop  him.  You  see  that  he  is  going  away  because 
lie  t]  "nks  T  1  ite  him,  and  if  ho  was  to  be  ship- 
wrecked >trd  drowned,  or  cast  on  a  desert  island 
like  Bobinson  Orusoe,  I  should  never  forgive  my- 
self." 

*'  Well,  child,  I  suppose  the  only  thing  to  b3 
done  is  to  go  to  Marseilles  and  t)  call  on  Mile. 
Lautard,  who  has  the  wisest  head  on  her  shomders 
of  any  woman  I  know,  and,  if  your  husband  has  not 
yet  sailed,  to  see  if  between  her  and  your  Aunt 
Mede  some  means  to  stop  him  may  be  devised. 
You  and  T,  Eose,  will  find  ourselves  rather  in  a 
ecrape  if  M.  George  makes  this  coup  de  tete  and  we 
have  told  neither  his  puents  nor  yours  of  his  hav- 
ing lefs  you  some  aays  ago.  You  see,  my  little 
^rl,  I  was  afraid  of  their  falhng  out.  Your  father 
and  mother,  J  mean,  and  the  count  and  countess, 
or  of  '}>rir  all  btjI? managing  him." 

*'  Th«y  wo«M  have  been  sure  to  do  so,  Aunt 
"MM^  ;  tha  would  have  been  the  worat  thing  that 
could  happen  to  us.  Now  there  is  hope  if  only  he 
bafi  not  Bulled.    Let  us  lose  no  time.     May  I  tell 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


273 


Simon  to  fetch  two  mules  to  take  us  to  Oas-io, 
wlitre  we  shall  meet  the  Marseilles  diligence  ?  If 
ho  will  but  make  haste,  thoy  will  be  here  in  an 
hour." 

"  Verv  well,"  Mis6  MMe  saW  ;  and  at  the  end  of 
two  hours — for  Rose  bad  miscalculated  the  capabi- 
litie3  of  old  Simon's  legs — the  mules  stood  at  the 
door,  with  their  jingling  bells  and  large,  wide  sad- 
dles ornamented  with  red  tassels,  and  Dominique, 
the  drivrr,  stood  alongside  of  tliem,  a  tall,  tanned, 
fierce-lookinof  m*an,  with  a  brown  complixion  and 
tangled  black  hair. 

Kose  had  known  him  from  her  childhood,  and 
was  consequently  on  f  imiliar  terms  with  him. 

"Make  haste,  Dominique/' she  excluinnd  ;  **W0 
must  be  at  Marseilles  before  dinner  time." 

**  You  will  be  at  Cassio,  Mise  Rose,  in  three 
hours  ;  that  I  undt  rtako.  As  to  Marseilles,  it  is 
DO  business  of  mine." 

'*  Are  yon  going  to  walk  all  of  the  way  to  Cas- 
sio ?  " 

"  Of  course  ;  my  legs  are,  if  anything,  stronger 
than  theirs,"  he  added,  patting  affectionately  the 
mules,  wiiich  had  ocrtainly  workt  d  hard  in  their 
day.  Then  he  hoisted  Rose's  little  6gure  on  her 
saddle  as  lightly  as  if  she  had  been  a  bird,  his  dark 
complexion  and  wild  attire  contrasting  with  her 
delicate  features  and  pach  like  coloring  in  a  way 
wiiicb  would  have  delighted  a  painteT. 

Old  Siraon  the  while  was  helping  Mis6  MMls  to 
climb  up  to  the  back  of  the  other  mule,  and  tlicy 
then  set  out  at  a  kind  of  ti'ot,  Duminique  keeping 


Vi"?^- 


in 


274 


The  Notary  s  Daughter  * 


np  with  the tn  at  a  pace  between  a  walk  and  a  rnn. 
Roso  felt  as  though  she  would  b  ive  wished  for 
wings  to  bear  hur  more  rapidly  to  Marseilles,  and 
Mise  MeJ6  was  obliged  nov  and  then  to  remind 
her  that  her  old  limi*  could  not  stand  this  unmi- 
tigated speed. 

As  the  little  party  was  leaving  the  lane  which 
led  from  Belbousquet  into  the  path  across  the  hills 
to  Cassio,  they  met  a  peasant,  who  stopped  Ros  's 
mule  and  said :  **  Madame,  are  }ou  Madame  de 
VCdelles  ?  I  am  one  of  the  gard^crs  at  La  Pi- 
ncdc/' 
**  Yes;  whut  do  you  want  with  me  ?" 
"I  have  come  to  let  M.  George  know — M.  le 
Baro  1  George,  I  mean — that  M.  Vincent,  poor  old 
gentleman,  was  scizol  last  night  with  an  ati^ek  of 
piiralysis,  and  M,  le  Docteur  says  he  has  not  long 
fo  live.  He  is  quite  conscious,  poor  rlear  man,  but 
can  speak  very  little.  He  keeps  asking  for  M. 
George,  and  it  is  piteous  to  see  him  wa  ching  the 
door  and  with  the  one  hand  he  uuu  m  vb  making 
the  fcign  of  the  cross  and  throwing  up  his  eyes  to 
heaven.  M.  le  Cuv6  has  been  to  see  him,  but  he 
will  not  hear  of  being  anointed  till  he  has  seen  M. 
George,  so  I  have  como  to  fetch  him  ;  M.  le  Cin6 
sent  me.  The  girl  who  was  sick  went  home  last 
week  ;  her  room  has  been  strii:)ped  and  purified. 
M*.  Ic  Cure  told  me  to  say  that  there  was  no  dan- 
ger, and  he  wishes  M.  George  to  come  without  de- 
lay, for  the  old  man  may  die  at  any  moment.  He 
is  conscious  in  a  sort  of  way,  but  no  quite  reasona- 
ble like,  and  its  no  use  preaching  to  him  whilst  lie 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


75 


frels  about  seeing  M.  Goorge.  M.  and  inadame 
and  M.  Jacques  are  perhaps  coming  home  to-mor- 
row, but  by  that  time,  'tis  ten  to  one,  M.  Vincent 
will  bo  dead." 

"0  Aunt  M6de  '  *'  Rose  exclaimeJ,  '*  I  am  so 
sorry.  I  know  George  loves  very  much  that  old 
man.  There  1.3  something  so  pretty  he  wrote  about 
him  on  one  of  those  saraps  of  paper  T  picked  up  ia 
his  room.  It  began  '  Old  ^^incent,  thou  alone  hast 
known.'  How  sud  if  he  uied  without  seeing  him 
again,  and  all  the  family  with  whom  he  has  lived 
fifty  years  away  ! " 

Mise  Mede  fixed  her  eyes  on  Rose,  it  ose  earnest, 
powerful  eyes,  which  seem  to  speak  her  thought, 
and  Rose's  filed  wi.h  tears. 

*'  Come,  my  child,  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 
Mile  Lcscalle  asked,  and  anxiously  waiied  the  an- 
swer. 

'^  Do  you  think,  Aunt  Medc,  I  might  go  to  h% 
Pin6de  with  ^h  good  man  who  has  brought  the 
message,  and  will  you  go  on  to  Marseilles  with 
Dominique  ?  " 

*' By  all  means,"  Mis6  M6d6  replied.  ''It  was 
what  I  wanted  you  to  do,  Rosette.  Here,  Domi- 
nique, give  Madame  do  V^delles  her  bag;  she  \% 
going  the  other  way.'* 

Boso  had  jumped  off  her  saddle,  and  coming 
close  to  Mis6  M6d6's  mule,  she  threw  her  arms 
round  her,  looked  up  in  her  l\t/mf  and  said  ;  "  Kiss 
nr.e.  Aunt  M6cl6." 

*•  God  bless  you,  my  darling^'  ihe  old  lady  said, 
bending  down  her  venerable  fiice  to  pre^g  her  lipa 


\. 


i      i' '- 


276 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


on  Hose's  whie  forehead.  **  Go,  and  do  your  best 
with  that  p:orold  faithful  servant,  and  tell  hiiu 
that  he  must  think  of  God  flrst,  and  of  his  young 
master  afterwards.  Get  him  to  receive  the  last 
sacrameutd,  and  who  knows  what  may  follow  'r* 
Yes,  yes,  little  woman,  I  know  the  meaning  of 
that  beseeching  look.  Roly  on  your  old  Aunt 
M^de.  What  can  be  done  will  bo  done  ;  but  re- 
membrr  Who  it  is  that  holds  the  reins  aloft,  and 
knows  better  than  we  do  every  turning  of  life's 
road.  What  He  does  is  well  done,  Rosy ;  so  be  off, 
my  bravo  child,  and  do  your  duty.  Many  a  more 
dreary  ride  have  I  taken  than  this  one  of  thine — in 
old  days,  win  n  life  and  death  were  at  stake.  Say 
your  beads  as  you  jog  on,  and  hope  for  the  best." 

A  fond  embrace  was  given,  and  the  old  woman 
and  the  young  one  parted  and  went  on  their  way, 
each  with  a  holy  purpose,  each  with  a  silent 
prayer. 

When,  some  hours  afterward,  Mile.  Lescalle  ar- 
rived at  Marseilles,  she  went  sraiglit  from  the 
diligence  to  Mile.  Lautard's  house,  but  found  her 
out.  What  next  was  <o  be  done  ?  It  was  quite 
uncertain  when  she  would  come  home.  There 
seemed  nothing  to  do  but  wait.  Wai;ing  is  hard 
at  such  moments,  and  she  determined  to  try  and 
find  George  de  Vedellcs.  As  Mile.  Lautard's  ser- 
vants did  not  know  where  M.  de  Belmont  lived, 
Mic6  Med6  walked  to  tlie  admiralty,  and  there  ob- 
tained his  direction.  Off  she  went  to  the  house 
the  address  of  which  had  been  givon  her  and  rung 
the  bell.     She  did  not  ask  herself  what  she  should 


The  Nota  ^ys  Daughter » 


277 


ii»i 


Bay  to  George  de  Veuelles  if  she  ehotild  find  him  at 
home.  She  thought  that  the  promise  made  to 
God's  servants,  that  he  will  put  into  their  mi  iiths 
the  words  they  iiould  speak  wlien  they  appear  be- 
fore kings  to  botir  witness  to  the  truth,  in  a  certain 
degree  applies  ^o  all  who  pleud  the  causa  of  right 
against  wrong,  of  justice  against  injustice,  even  in 
the  secret  struggles  of  'omestic  111  and  the  ob- 
scure trials  of  individual  bould.  She  could  form  no 
plan,  she  could  find  no  worV  which  migl  :  not 
I)rove  entirely  misplaced,  according  to  tlie  nature 
and  state  of  mind  of  one  she  knew  so  lit'le  of  as 
this  strange  young  man,  who  had  inspired  once 
such  aversion  to  the  wife  upon  whom  he  had  been 
forced,  but  for  whom  she  now  felt  so  evident  an 
affection  that  if  h  did  not  return  to  her  the  bloom 
of  her  young  life  ^   >uld  vanish. 

The  bell  was  at  last  answered.  M.  de  Belmont 
had  left  two  days  before,  uiiu  gone  on  board  his 
uncle's  ship,  which  was  to  set  sail  that  evening. 
Mi  e  Mede's  heart  beat  very  fast. 

*•'  And  the  Baron  Georg.  de  Vedelles,  is  he  at 
homo  ?  "  she  askc'. ,  with  intense  anxiety. 

"  No,  madame  ;  he  is  also  on  board  the  Jean 
^ar^— that  is  to  say,  he  slept  there  last  night.  He 
called  here  for  his  letters  two  hours  ago.  M.  le 
Baron  embarks  also  to-night  for  America  with  M. 
le  Comte  de  Belmont." 

'*How  soon  do  you  suppose  will  the  ship  sail  ?" 
Mile.  Lescalle  asked. 

"  I  0  mnot  tell  exactly,  madame ;  but  I  suppose 
towards  sunset." 


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278 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


*'  Hovv  long  would  it  take  to  get  to  it  ?" 

*'I  cannot  tell,  maduine;  it  lies  at  some  distance 
in  the  bay.  Dear  me,  M.  le  Comte's  own  servant 
was  hero  just  now.  He  would  hare  known;  but 
the  sailors  at  the  port,  :iiot  far  ofE,  would  be  able  to 
inform  mudamo. 

MisG  Mede  returned  to  Mile.  Lautard's  house, 
and  there  heard  that  s'le  would  perhaps  find  her  at 
the  Military  Hospital,  where  there  was  mucli  sick- 
ness just  then.  She  helped  the  Sisters  of  Charity  to 
nurse  the  soldiers. 

These  words  made  tlie  thought  flash  through  her 
mind  that  Denise— Soenr  Donigc — might  be  found 
there  also,  and  thither  she  hurried  with  a  speed 
wonderful  at  her  age.  Again  there  was  a  weary 
time  spent  in  tlie  waiting-room,  after  sending  a 
message  to  Mllo.  Lautard  to  aay  that  she  was  there, 
and  wished  to  see  her  on  pressing  business.  At 
last  fche  came,  that  good,  bravo  woman,  with  her 
bright:-,  fine  face,  her  slightly  hump-backed  figure,  bo 
well  kno vvn  ir  Marstdlles,  and  her  cheering  smile. 

**  My  dear,  dear  old  friend,  is  it  you  ?  I  wro^e 
to  you  yesterday  that  I  had  discovered  M.  do  Bel- 
mont's address,  and  would  try  and  see  him  on  your 
business  as  soon  as  I  could.  Has  anything  hap- 
pened since  jou  wrote  ?  " 

"Yes,  my  gt)od  Ani^lie,  a  letter  from  George 
V^delles  came,  announcing  his  immediate  depar- 
ture for  America.  He  leaves  Marseilles  this  even- 
injr  with  M.  dc  Belmont  in  the  Jean  Bart.*^ 

"You  take  my  breath  away,  my  dear^^  but  tell 
me  quick,  you  still  want  to  stop  him  T^ 


The  Notary's  Dixughter, 


279 


"  Yes ;  for  all  sorts  of  reasons.  It  is  a  simple 
misunderstanding  between  these  poor  cliildren, 
both  so  young,  both  so  wrongly  dealt  with,  and  a 
poor  old  servant  at  La  Piucde  is  also  dying,  and 
sending  for  him.  Rose  is  gone  to  him.  My  dear 
Amelie,  all  might  still  come  right  if  we  could  stop 
hira.  But  1)0W  to  write  a  message,  how  to  write  a 
letter  which  would  have  that  effect,  and  every  mo- 
ment is  precious" 

"  L  t  us  call  Scaur  Denise  ;  she  knows  him,  and 
we  doii'i.  I  said  something  about  him  to  her  the 
other  day.  Sho  told  mo  that  he  is  rather  a  strange 
youth,  but  with  a  great  deal  that  is  good  in  him, 
and  cleverncs>',  too,  she  thinks,  which  none  of  his 
family  seemed  to  suspect.  Stop  a  minute,  I  will 
ask  her  to  come  and  Si>eak  to  you." 

In  a  few  minutes  Soeur  Denise  came  in  with 
Mile.  Lautard.  M'se  Mede,  as  she  looked  at  the 
beautiful  face  under  the  white  cornette,  that  face 
George  de  Vedelles  had  painted  with  marvellous 
talent,  said  to  herself,  "  No  wonder  he  cared  for 
her,"  and  there  was  a  twinge  in  her  heart  as  she 
thought  that  even  her  own  dear,  pretty  little 
Rose's  lovelitess  could  not  stand  a  comparison  with 
the  matchless  fac»J,  the  lovely  figure,  the  command- 
ing and  at  the  same  time  most  gentle  beauty  of 
that  daughter  of  St.  Vincent  dc  Paul,  that  humble 
servauii  01  wjiC  poor. 

Seated  letween  Mi96  M6de  and  Mile.  Liutard, 
Sojur  Denise  listened  like  a  compassionating  angel 
t )  the  story-  briefly  told,  of  those  two  young  crea- 
ta.'e«  whose  fate  was  concerned  in  Mise  M4d6'i 


Hn 


11 


280 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


-T 


present  efforts,  and  when  the  latter  ejaculated, 
"  How  to  explain  in  a  few  words  the  whole  of  this 
strange  case  ?  How  to  indicate  it  in  a  way  that 
would  stop  him  just  as  the  anchor  is  about  to 
T/eigh,  and  he  fancies  he  is  doing  right  to  go  ?'* 

*'  Would  the  news  of  the  old  bervant*d  danger 
prevail  upon  him  ?"  Soeur  Denise  asked. 

"It  might  or  it  might  not ;  he  might  even  sus- 
pect a  trick  to  prevent  his  departure." 

SoBur  Denise  leant  her  brow  on  h^^r  hands  and 
thought  a  little;  then  she  looktd  up,  with  her 
bright,  herious  smile,  and  said  :  *'  What  a  blessing 
it  is  to  have  given  up  the  world  !  A  Sister  ol 
Charity  can  do  what  a  young  lady  could  not  have 
done.  Wait  a  minute  ;  I  mu.  t  have  one  word  v/ith 
ma  swur,  and  then  perhaps  we  may  be  able  to  stop 
thia  mad  departure." 

She  left  the  room,  and  soon  returned  with  a  let- 
ter in  her  hand,  which  she  placed  iu  Mis6  M6d6's 
hands.     It  contained  these  words  : 

*'M.  LE  Barok:  Your  old  servant  Vincent  is 
dangerously  ill,  and  asks  for  you.  Give  up  your 
voyage  and  go  to  him.  You  promised  me  that  if 
I  came  to  ihe  chapel  of  La  Pin6de  on  the  last  day 
of  May  you  would  grant  any  request  of  mine,  what- 
ever it  might  be.  I  was  there,  and  I  now  claim 
your  promise. 

"Deijise  de  la  Pinede,  Fille  de  Charity. 

"  H6PITAL  MiLITAIRE." 

''  God  bless  you,  Soeur  Denise,"  Mis6  M^de  ex- 
claimed with  tears  in  her  eyes  ;  "  but  let  me  just 
tell  you  that  I  am  afraid  of  his  going  straight  to  La 


The  Notary's  Diwgkter. 


281 


Pin^do  and  finding  R  se,  witlioufc  Imving  heard 
auytliing  to  enliglitenliim  as  to  her  present  feelings 
to   ards  bim." 

Soeur  Dcnise  took  up  a  pen  and  addea  t1iis  post- 
script: "Como  first  to  the  hospital.  Tuere  are 
impoi  tant  reasons  for  this." 

"Will  you  speak  to  him,  Soeur  Dcnise  ?  Will 
you  be  the  angel  of  peace  that  will  reconcile  him  to 
his  young  wife  ?  He  never  could  resist  you,  I  feel 
sure  of  that." 

*'  I  am  not  going  to  be  an  angel  at  all  in  the 
matter,"  Soeur  Denise  answered,  with  that  playful 
simplicity  so  common  amongst  the  Sist  rs  of  Clia- 
rity  "  If  TAa  sceur  approves  of  it,  I  have  no  ob- 
jection to  see  the  young  baron  and  to  give  h'm  a 
good  scolding.  Oh  I  here  comes  our  messenger. 
Shall  the  note  go  as  it  is,  Mile.  Lescalle,  or  will 
you  add  anything  to  it  ?** 

**  Oh  I  no,"'  both  Mis6  M0J6  and  Mile.  Lautard 
exclaimed,  and  the  missive  was  placed  i'"  tha 
hands  of  a  j'oung  sailor  belonging  to  one  of  ScBur 
Denise's  poor  families,  who  promised  not  to  lose  a 
minute  \n  conveying  it  to  the  gentleman  on  board 
the  Jean  Bart. 

The  bells  of  Notre  Dame  de  la  Garde  were  ring- 
ins:  the  Angelus.  The  softened  sound  of  their 
chimes  floated  in  the  transparent  air  as  the  setting 
sun  was  sinking  into  a  bed  of  rosy  colored  clouds, 
leaving  behind  it  that  bright,  lingering  light  which 
is  so  s<:rikii;g  on  a  summer's  evening  on  the  Medi- 
terranean  Sea. 

Geor«»e  do  V^delles  was  fitaudiog  on  the  deck  of 


'   I 


1ti 

HI 

'|7T",'ffl^^HnB. 

"3 

,<>lJ 

ina 


282 


The  Notary  J  Daughter. 


the  vosici,  which  in  another  hour  was  to  weigh 
anclior.  Sunk  into  a  deep  r.^vcrie,  he  was  fcbinking 
at  that  moment  of  tliree  persons,  two  of  whom 
woul  ]  grieve  at  his  depir  ure,  and  one  who  would 
not  know  of  it,  or,  if  she  d  d,  never  give  it  a 
thought.  There  was  his  mother.  He  lovel  her 
very  much.  When  siie  had  been  ill  after  her  acci- 
dent his  misery  had  showed  him  how  str  ng  was 
thiit  love.  But  there  had  been  a  bitter  feeling  in 
his  heart  for  muny  a  long  day  which  had  saddened 
his  affection  for  her.  S!ie  had  been  tender,  very 
tender  to  him,  very  gentle  and  kind  ;  she  had 
grieved  at  his  father's  harshness,  and  tried  to  make 
up  for  it;  hut  she  had  not  the  least  understood 
eit!.er  his  character,  his  state  of  heakh,  or  his 
fcufferipgs  of  mind.  Just  as  much  as  M.  de  V6- 
delles  and  Jacquc  s,  she  had  looked  upon  him  since 
his  illness  as  a  sort  of  grown-up  child  or  a  nervous 
invalid,  without  energy  or  will  or  intellect.  S'ie 
had  plotted  with  the  others  to  bring  about  his  mar- 
ii:igf — that  marriage  winch  had  caused  him  ^uch 
bit  er  humiliations.  She  had,  indeed,  had  scru- 
ples on  the  subject,  bdt  they  had  been  expressed  too 
late  to  avail.  But  after  resolving  to  ahandon  his 
home  and  the  wife  that  !;ad  been  forced  upon  him, 
and  on  whom  he  htid  heen  forced,  now,  at  the  last 
moment,*the  t'  ought  of  his  mother's  sorrow  haunt- 
ed him.  It  had  done  so  the  whole  of  that  day,  but 
when  in  a  c«/e,  where  he  had  break  fas  ed,  ho  had 
taken  up  the  newspaper  and  read  the  news  of  his 
brother's  election  as  Deputy  dcs  Bouches  du  Rhone, 
his  heart  had  hardened  again  for  a  while.     They 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


283 


all  had  what  fchey  had  striven  for  and  sc'iemed  for 
•^-Jacqjes  his  seat,  his  parents  the  full  gratificatioa 
of  iheir  pride  in  him,  M.  Loscalle  a  good  settlement, 
aiul  the  title  of  baronne  for  his  daughter.  It  was 
all  as  it  should  be,  and  no  one  had  any  right  to  com- 
pUiu. 

"  Poor  old  Vincent  will  be  sorry,"  he  thought 
**  Except  my  mother,  ho  is  the  only  creature  in 
the  world  who  re:dly  cares  for  me.  I  shall  write 
to  iiim  from  the  first  place  we  sto^)  at."  His  eyes, 
^hich  were  wandering  over  the  busy  town  he  was 
about  (0  leave,  fixed  themsdves  at  that  moment  on 
a  square,  ugly  building  which  he  knew  well  by 
sight,  (he  Military  H  spital.  "  Weil,  who  knows 
but  I  may  tread  in  her  foo  steps ;  who  knows  that 
I  may  not  some  duy  <]o  as  she  is  doing,  live  for 
God  alone  and  the  poor." 

It  wa3  not  tho  first  time  tliat  thought  had  struck 
him  since  ho  had  left  Belbousquet.  The  fact  was 
that  his  conscience  was  not  completely  satisfied 
wifc'i  Lis  reasoning,  and  had  now  and  then  given 
signs  of  protesting,  which  it  was  necessary  to  lull 
and  the  dream  of  a  bublime  vocation  to  bo  here- 
after followed  proved  useful  as  an  anodyte  to 
troublesome  doubts. 

These  detp  musings  were  interrupted  by  M.  de 
Belraont'g  voice,  who  critd  to  him  from  tl  e  oppo- 
eite  side  of  the  deck,  "  George,  here  i^  a  sailor-boy 
who  has  brought  a  letter  for  you  with  *  immediate' 
written  upoii  it." 

The  blood  rushed  to  George's  face  and  brow. 
He  had  no  doubt  some  of  his  family  or  his  wife's 


'  I 


,ji 


ig^ 


284 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


relations  had  written  to  stop  his  departure,  and 
all  the  combativeness  of  his  nature  was  roused. 
He  felt  almost  inclined  not  to  read  the  letter  before 
the  ship  sailed.  Then  the  fear  that  his  mother 
might  be  ill  crossed  him.  *•  Good  God  I"  he  imme- 
diately exclaimed,  "  I  cannot  run  such  a  risk,"  and 
he  advanced  to  meet  the  boy,  who  held  out  the 
letter  to  him. 

The  instant  he  saw  the  handwriting  his  heart 
began  to  beat  violently.  When  he  read  the  few 
lines  addressed  to  him  he  looked  pale  and  agi- 
tated, but  did  not  for  a  moment  hesitate.  Going 
straight  up  to  M.  de  Belmont,  he  said,  *' Aloys, 
you  will  think  me  a  very  strange  person,  but  I 
must  go  back.  I  cannot  start  with  you.  I  have 
had  bad  news.'* 
"  Your  parents?" 

"  No ;  our  old  servant  Vincent  is  dangerously 
ill,  and  asks  for  me;  I  must  be  with  him  before  he 
dies." 

♦*  Well,  if  it  had  been  one  of  your  family,  my 
dear  fellow,  hut  really  I  cannot  see—  After  you 
had  made  up  your  mind  that  you  had  snch  strong 
reasons  for  leaving  France,  it  does  seem  rather 
chaugoable.  I  am  afraid  my  undo  will  be  annoyed, 
lie  di<l  not  want  to  take  yon.  1  had  to  argue,  to 
urge,  cv(?u  to  exaggerate  the  importance  of  your 
absenting  jourself  for  some  time  to  induce  him 
to  CO  sent,  aiTd  now,  half  an  hour  before  sailing— '* 
*'  I  cannot  help  it,  Aloys." 
"Oh  !  (f  course,  poets  arc  endowed  with  wonder- 
ful sensibility,  and  are  very  wayward  also ;  but  I 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


285 


tliink  this  is  really  an  exaggerated  eraount  ( f  feel- 
ing. If  all  you  have  tried  to  convince  me  of  is  the 
case,  if  you  are  determined  not  to  return  to  your 
wife — " 

"  Quite  as  determined  as  evor — " 

*'  Why,  then,  you  are  preparing  for  yourself  and 
her  all  sorts  of  disagreeable  Fcenes,  ^aich  you  so 
strongly  argued  you  wished  to  avoid.  Come,  write 
a  kind  note  to  this  poor  old  man,  and  do  not  in 
a  moment  give  up  what  you  took  days  to  decide 


on. 


» 


"I  cannot  explain  to  you,  Aloys,  all  the  circum- 
stances of  the  case.  There  is  a  promise  in  ques- 
tion, and  I  am  bound  in  honor  as  well  as  in  feeling 
to  go  this  very  moment  on  shore." 

"Who  sent  this  note?" 

"A  Sister  of  Charity,"  George  replied,  com- 
manding his  emotion.  Turning  to  the  young 
sailor,  he  said,  "I  will  return  with  you  in  your 
boat.  Aloys,  let  my  portmanteau  and  bag  be 
handed  down.  Good-by,  dear  and  kind  friend. 
Do  not  judge  me  severely  ;  I  am  not  as  wayward  as 
y  'U  think." 

"Well,  stop  a  minute  ;  I  must  give  you,  if  you 
are  really  going,  a  letter  I  received  just  now  from 
Paris.  It  contains  some  good  news,  enough  to 
turn  your  head.  Good  heavens  I  there  is  the  first 
signal  given  ;  we  shall  be  off  in  a  few  minutes. 
God  bless  you,  old  fellow  I    Write  to  me." 

In  half  an  hour  George  de  Vedelles  entered  the 
waiting-room  of  the  Military  Hospital.  It  was  full 
of  people,  and  sisters  in  white  cormttea  flitted 


,.ii 


»| 


m 


286 


The  Notary's  Daughter^ 


across  it  now  and  then,  spcaldug  one  moment  to 
one  person  and  I  hen  to  another.  Some  one  came 
up  to  him  and  asked  him  whom  he  was  waiting  to 
see.  He  stammered  out,  ^'SoBiir  Deniae."  **  She 
will  bi)  here  in  a  moment,'*  was  Ih*  replj?,  and  he 
sat  doA^n  again  with  r.  strange  sort  of  wonder  that 
he  was  going  to  see  Demise  again,  in  such  a  new 
scene  and  under  such  different  circumstances. 
Each  cornelte  that  appeared  at  the  d  or  he  watch- 
ed with  anxiety.  At  last  one  did  appear,  and  un- 
der it  the  beautiful  face  he  had  £0  worshipped.  It 
was  not  changed,  not  at  all  changed,  and  yet  it 
looked  different,  or  else  ho  looked  upon  it  with 
dificrent  feelings.  He  was  less  agitated  than  bc- 
f  re  she  had  entered  the  room.  Ho  looked  at  her 
for  some  time  previa  us'y  to  her  seeing  him. 

She  was  leading  by  the  hand  two  little  cliildren 
who  had  been  visiting  their  father,  a  sick  soldier, 
and  telling  the  person  who  had  brought  them  to 
oomc  again  in  a  week's  time.  Then  slie  turned  to 
an  old  man  sitting  with  his  chin  resting  on  his 
stick,  and  joked  and  laughed  with  him  till  she 
made  him  look  merrv ;  and  next  she  examined 
papers  presented  to  her  by  a  pale  soldier  with  Lis 
ai'm  in  a  sling,  and  gave  him  directions  about  the 
ofiBce  where  he  was  to  apply  for  admission.  Yes, 
she  looketl  juat  as  beautiful  as  ever ;  and  each 
poor  person  who  spoke  to  her  seemed  to  hang  on 
her  words  as  if  thtre  had  been  in  them  a  spell  to 
bring  them  relief.  It  was  delightful  to  watch  her, 
as  with  a  light  step,  a  clear  voice,  and  a  pretty,  re- 
solute manner,  ^hc  got  through  her  business  with 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


287 


DO 


.IS 

he 
es, 
ch 
on 
lo 
er, 
rc- 
Lth 


each  of  those  who  had  asked  foi  her.  But  as  he 
watched  and  gazed,  George  felt  that  a  change  had 
come  ovrr  Dcnise  de  la  Pinedp,  which  uncon- 
sciously was  changing  also  the  feelings  with  which 
he  looked  upon  her.  The  wild,  the  agitating,  the 
sentimental  worship  with  which  ho  had  regarded 
the  girl  Avho  like  an  angel  of  beauty  and  bright- 
ness had  visited  lier  ancestral  honne,  and  roused  in 
him  the  first  emotions  of  a  romantic  affection, 
seemed  to  disappear  like  magic  in  the  presence  of 
the  earnest,  business-like,  serene,  sweet-faced  Sister 
of  Charity.  They  mol  ed  away  in  the  healthy  san- 
fihino  of  her  joyous,  placid  countenance  as  the 
w];iie  frost  di  appears  from  the  pane  where  it  had 
formed  fanciful  picture?.  By  this  lime  she 
percft  ved  him,  and  coming  up  to  him  withasmile, 
said : 

^•'  0  M,  lo  B.iroii  i  I  wanted  to  epeak  to  you." 

0/)orge  felt  quite  calm  and  composed. 

*•' You  must  excuse  me,"  Soeur  Denize  said,  "if 
I  doubted  for  an  instant  that  a  eying  person's  wish 
to  see  yon,  and  that  person  an  old  man  wh^  has 
loved  vou  from  a  child,  would  be  sufficient  to  de- 
cide  you  lo  give  up  your  departure  Excuse  me 
for  having  thought  it  niccssary  lo  claim  the  fulfil- 
ment of  a  rash  promise,  which  you  had  probably 
by  this  time  forgotten.** 

*'I  have  forgotten  nothing,"  George  answered, 
"and  I  thank  you  for  having  made  it  impos  ib^o 
for  me  to  l.esitate  between  two  duties  which* seem- 
e  1  equally  imperative." 

*'That  of  consoling  Vincent  on  his  death-bed. 


)i  i 


U 


288 


The  Notary  s  Daughier, 


i  i\ 


,tu  *  t 


and  the  other  ?    What  was  that  other  duty,   M 
George  ? " 

There  was  a  sort  of  smile  on  Benibe'a  face,  a 
look  of  amusement  in  her  dark,  bright  eyes,  which 
piqued  George,  and  he  answered  with  a  heightened 
color  : 

"  May  I  ask,  ma  s(8ur,  if  in  writing  to  claim  the 
fulfilment  of  my  promise,  and  stopping  my  depar- 
ture, you  were  actuated  by  the  sole  desire  that  I 
should  visit  poor  Vincent  on  his  death-bed  ?" 

"No,  M.  Ic  Baron,  I  wished  also  to  save  you  from 
committing  a  wrong  and  a  foolish  action.'* 

"  What  do  you  -:iean  ?  How  can  you  judge  of 
my  reasons  ?  You  do  not  even  know  what  were 
my  intentions." 

"  I  know  this  much,  that  you  are  married  to  a 
virtuous  and  amiable  girl,  and  that  without  her 
consent,  wit))out  the  knowledge  of  your  parents, 
to  wl  om  you  owe  respect,  if  not  obedience,  you 
are  acting  on  pure  impulse,  and  abandoning  your 
home,  your  wife,  and  your  duties  m  a  fit  of  anger 
or  despondency." 

There  was  something  so  severe  in  the  expression 
of  Soeur  Drni^c's  countenat^ce  that  George  quailed 
beneath  her  glance.  He  at  once  looked  npon  her 
as  an  at>gcl  sent  to  console  him  when  his  mother's 
illness  was  breaking  his  heart.  Now  she  scenied 
like  a  heavenly  messenger  commissioned  to  upbraid 
him.  He  felt  half  indignant,  half  subdued.  His 
cheek  was  flushed  and  his  brow  contracted.  He 
burst  forth  in  a  tone  of  voice  as  loud  as  was  com- 
patible with  the  fear  of  being  heard  by  some  of  the 


tm 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


289 


groups  scattered  about  t!ie  room,  and  beg-tn  to 
justify  himself.  He  spoke  of  having  bccu  forced 
to  marry  a  girl  he  did  not  care  for.  Soeur  Deniso 
interrupted  liin  and  said  ; 

"  No  force  should  have  compelled  you  to  do  that, 
M  George ;  you  are  a  perfectly  tratliful  person, 
and  I  am  sure  yoa  vjrill  not  venture  to  say  that  it 
was  no  optional  for  you  to  j*esist  the  pressure  put 
upon  you." 

*'  My  parents  were  bent  on  this  marriage." 
»  **Ifyou  were  bound  to  obey  them,  what  right 
have  you  now  to  fly  in  their  faces  by  forsaking  the 
wife  they  have  given  you  ?"  ^ 

**She  hates  roc,  and  I  can  n*»ver  love  her." 

**  Are  you  sure  she  hates  jou  ?  Have  you  tried 
^o  love  her?  Ha¥e  y(^  tried  to  make  her  love 
yon  ?  Have  you  forgot  that  you  arc  bound  to  her 
by  the  vows  you  made  before  God's  alt"',  and  that 
you  have  no  right  to  deal  with  her  as  wiih  a  stran- 
'  ger  ?  M.  le  Baron,  you  arc  a  man  of  honor  ;  you 
would  not  have  broken  i,  promise  you  gave  mo, 
half  in  joke,  perhaps,  and  you  deliberately  break 
one  you  made  to  protect  and  chcrisli  this  young 
girl  whom  God  has  committed  to  your  keeping, 
and  for  whose  soul  you  will  have  to  answer,  if^ 
abandoned  at  the  age  of  seventeen  to  all  the  terap- 
tcttions  of  youth  and  inexperience,  she  should 
stray  from  the  path  of  virtue  and  honor.  You 
have  not  thought  of  this;  you  have  been  delud- 
ing yourself ;  you  have  been  en  the  p^int  of  com- 
mitting a  great  sin.  Thank  God  that  he  has 
saved  you  from  it.    0  M,  de  Vedelics  I  Low  blind 


fill, 


w 


29c 


Ifie  Notary  s  Daughter. 


you  have  been,  bow  uoarly  wicked  witlioat  know- 
ing it."      ^ 

"She  hates  me,  and  my  wish  was  io  deliver  her 
from  the  presence  of  one  whom  she  looks  upon 
with  aversion." 

Soeur  Denise  made  \  little  gestore  of  impatience, 
and  said  : 

"Because  a  child  like  your  young  wife  turned 
her  back  upon  you  once  and  vexed  you,  are  60th 
your  lives  to  bo  wretched  ?  Do  your  dut\  ;  leave 
the  rest  to  God.  "Would  3.  had  Rtill,  as  some  hoorg 
ago,  the  right  to  command  you  ! " 

"  ScBur  Denise,"  George  exclaimed  with  emotion, 
"  listen  to  mcl  I  am  not  so  bad  as  you  think  me. 
I  really  thought  what  I  meant  to  do  was  best  for 
Rose,  and  uiy  plans  were  not  selfish.  I  l.ft  her  all 
the  means  of  njoyment  I  ^renounced,  and  my  in- 
tention was  to  offe^  myself  to  work  with  the  Catho- 
lic missionaries  in  the  South  Sea  Islands,  and  lead, 
far  away  from  Europe,  the  sort  of  life  you  are 
leading  here." 

SoBur  Denisc  could  not  repress  a  smile. 

"  My  dear  M.  de  Vedelles,"  she  replied,  "  that 
was  a  very  Sne  dream,  but  it  is  God  alone  wh  >  en 
cull  people  to  lives  if  this  sort,  uut  their  own  de- 
luded fancies.  You  have  before  you  }our  path 
traced  out.*  It  may  still  be  a  happy  one." 

George  shook  his  head, 

"  You  can  make  it  ft  happy  oi.e  if  you  choose., 
"^Dven  if  it  was  fu'l  of  trials  and  sorrows.  But 
tarlhly  happiness  may  still  be  yours,  if  you  do  not 
thrust  it  from  you.     I  hafo  a  great  mind  to  tell 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


29  T 


you  a  secret,  in  two  words,  for  I  must  be  off.  That 
little  wife  of  yours — you  know  I  have  never  told,  a 
lie  in  my  life,  even  for  a  good  object — I  say  your 
wife  loves  yoii,  and  is  breaking  her  heart  at  your 
leaving  her.  Good-by,  M.  de  VedcUes.  Give  my 
kind  regards  to  M.  Vincent,  and  tell  him  that 
SoBur  Denlse  will  offer  up  hpr  communion  for  him 
to-morrow." 

'  As  she  passed  through  the  passage  into  the  wards 
Soeur  Denise  met  Mile.  Le.calle,  who  had  been 
praying  during  the  whole  time  of  the  interview. 
S!ie  took  h*  r  by  t':e  hand  and  led  her  to  tlie  win- 
dow. It  was  getting  dark,  but  tley  could  see 
George  hurraing  down  the  street  leading  to  the 
Bur-  yu  des  Dili/jenccs. 
^'  There  he  goes/  she  whispered  to  Mise  Mede, 
"Does  he  know  l.e  will  Ond  ilose  at  La  Pi- 
nede  ?  " 

*'  No,  I  thought  it  better  not  to  tell  him  so.  I 
think  all  will  be  right  ;  but  now  we  must  leave  the 
kSsL  to  our  good  God  and  hope  for  tb.e  best.' 


» 


•mmmimmm m' 


CHAPTER   XX. 


EOSE  AT   LA   PINEDE. 


It  w'ds  aViout  five  o'clock  in  tlie  morn'ug  when 
George  de  Vedclles  got  out  of  the  diligence  at  the 
place  where  the  cross-roads  which  led  to  La  Pinede 
branched  off  from  the  liigh-road.  The  sun  was 
rising  and  the  birds  beginning  to  sing.  After  the 
jolting  and  the  dust  cf  the  drive  in  the  dihgence 
there  was  something  wonderfully  refreshing  in  the 
morning  air  and  the  quiet  stillness  of  the  olive  ard 
orange  groves  ihroujih  which  he  walked  on  his  way 
to  the  cl  dtcau.  Dnriiig  the  hours  of  darkness  in 
the  conpe  of  the  diligence  he  had  meditated  on  his 
conversation  with  Scour  Denise,  and  marvelled  at 
the  change  which  he  felt  had  come  over  him.  He 
had  so  often  indulged  in  waling  dreams  of  which 
ehe  had  been  the  o'  ject  that  he  could  hardly  real- 
ize having  actually  seen  and  spoken  to  her,  looked 
in  her  face*  and  list  ned  to  her  voice  witi»  so  little 
emotion.  What  had  become  of  that  pa-sion  which 
still,  a  few  hours  ago,  had  seemed  so  strong  ?  He 
hardly  liked  to  acknowledge  to  himself  the  change 
which  h.  coultl  not  but  feel  had  taken  place  in  the 
nature  of  his  feelings.     It  was  a  relief  to  have  seen 

bar,  and  not  to  have  grudged  her  to  God  and  the 

m 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


293 


poor,  but  the  very  relief  of  this  change  seemed  to 
leave  a  void  behind  it.  He  had  often  called  her  in 
his  solitary  musings  his  Beatrice,  and  compared  her 
to  the  heavenly  object  of  Dante's  poetic  worship. 
He  tried  to  rca\vai<cn  in  himseif  this  vision  ;  but  no, 
he  could  not  recall  it  such  as  he  had  so  often  con- 
jured it  up  in  the  shades  cf  night  or  amidst  the 
sunshiny  hills  or  on  the  solitary  seashore. 

Instead  of  it  he  saw  the  image  of  another  Denise, 
one  beau; if ul,  indeed,  and  lovable  as  ever,  but  un- 
like the  ideal  Denise  of  his  waking  dreams.  She 
walked  this  earth  doing  good,  that  holy  atid  lovely 
Sister  of  Charity.  She  carried  dirty  children  in  her 
armSj  jjked  and  laughed,  and,  morejver,  i:ho  had 
laughed  at  Lira,  George  de  VedeUcs,  and  scolded 
him,  and  held  cheap  his  romantic  plans  of  heroic 
self  devotion. 

This  all  told  on  his  feelings;  she  kn^w  what  she 
was  about,  that  artful  Sceur  Denise,  and  she  had 
produced  the  very  effect  which  she  ht-d  intended. 
Then  those  last  few  words  she  had  suid,  that  secret 
she  had  let  out.  Had  ili  not  also  done  its  work  ? 
did  they  not  occur  and  reoccur  to  George's  mind 
during  that  night,  wliich  seemed  so  long  in  the  rum- 
bling vehicle,  and  did  they  not  haunt  him  yet  move 
as  ho  walked  in  the  dawning  light  of  morn  up  the 
hills  leading  to  La  Piri6de  ? 

**  Your  wife  loves  you  I"  Could  that  be  possi- 
ble ?  He  had  so  much  faith  in  Denise  that  he 
could  not  doubt  thai  she  had  grounds  for  what  she 
said;  and  if  so^  did  not  the  whole  position  of  af- 
fairs change  between  aim  and  Rose  ? 


■(iil«iliift|l[|i.l.irt>.Mw...  -^. 


294 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


As  fiie  glorious  gun  of  the  south  rose  higlier  aud 
bighcr  la  the  horizon  and  nature  seensed  to  liail  its 
beams,  so  did  a  feeling  of  unwonted  warmth  and 
joy  expand  in  a  heart  that  had  been  embittered  into 
hardness  and  clouded  with  dark  shadows. 

Suppose  she  did  love  him,  that  prelty  hUle  Rose 
— suppose  she  had  a  heart  and  mind  capable  of  cor- 
responding with  the  deeper  thoughts  and  a^pira- 
ticns  which  liad  been  struggling  into  life  in  his  own 
Boul  since  Denis„'s  vocation  and  Toinettc's  death- 
bed had  roused  its  latent  faith,  would  not  happi- 
ness be  po8.dblc  ?  Was  not  light  breaking  on  the 
future,  which  l»ad  hi. herto  seemed  so  hopeless. 

Such  were  George's  thoughts  as  he  approached 
L.i  Pinede.  The  gate  was  unlocked,  and  he  walked 
up  the  avonue  at  a  rapid  pace,  and  with  an  earnest 
hope  that  poor  old  Viucunb  would  still  be  alive  and 
conscious  of  hi3  arrival. 

The  door  rf  the  house  was  also  open  ;  he  walked 
into  the  ball,  and  then  looked  into  the  drawing- 
room.  The  sight  whic'i  met  his  eyes  took  him  by 
sui'prise.  On  his  mother's  sofa  near  the  chimney 
Rose,  in  her  walking  dress,  was  lying  asleep,  look- 
ing like  a  beautiful  child,  with  her  fair  hair  about 
her  face  and  her  dark  eye-lashes  wet  with  tears. 
Her  head  was  resting  on  one  of  her  small  hands 
and  the  other  was  laid  on  an  open  book  by  her  side. 

George  approached  her  with  a  beating  heart, 
and,  treading  as  softly  as  he  could,  he  gazed  at  the 
lovely    eheping   face   with  irrepressible  emotion,  i 
**  And  d  ,es  she  love  mo  ?  "  he  said  to  Itself.    *  0 
my  God  I "  he  murmured,  kneeling  down  by  the 


Pf 


The  Notary s  Daughter, 


295 


couch,  "let  it  be  so,"  and  tears  streamed  down 
his  face.  His  eyes  fell  on  the  open  book.  It  was 
the  life  of  St.  Elizabeth  of  Hungary,  and  the  little 
hand  upon  it  was  placed  on  the  lines  he  had  writ- 
ten on  the  margin  of  one  of  tlie  pages. 

How  much  was  revealed  by  the  choice  and  the 
positiou  of  that  book  I  He  felt  it,  and  an  irresis- 
tible impulse  made  him  bend  down  and  kiss  tho 
hand  of  his  young  wife.  Rose  opened  her  large 
blue  eyes,  and  when  she  saw  George's  face  clos9  to 
hers  she  rubbed  those  lovely  blue  eyes  and  said, 
"It  is  a  dream  !"  and  turned  her  head  on  tho 
pillow  as  if  she  '-vished  to  go  to  sleep  again. 

"  Sleep  on,  dear  Rose,"  he  whispered.  "  I  shall 
come  back  when  I  have  seen  Vincent." 

The  words,  though  breathed  so  low  that  he 
thought  she  could  hardly  have  heard  them,  made 
her  start  up  on  her  couch,  and  looking  hiiu  in 
the  face,  she  stared  at  him  a  moment  and  then 
said  : 

"Wait — wait ;  I  must  tell  you — I  must  speak  to 
you  first — before  you  go  up-stairs." 

"  Am  1  too  late  ?  0  poor  old  Vincent  I  Is  he 
dead  ?  " 

And  as  Rose  did  not  answer,  but  took  his  hand 
in  hers,  and  he  felt  her  hot  tears  falling  upon 
them,  he  knew  it  was  so  and  sobbed  like  a  child. 

"  George,  dear  George,"  she  said,  still  holding 
his  hand  in  hers,  "  be  comforted  ;  he  died  so 
peacefully,  just  after  receiving  Holy  Communion. 
M.  Ic  Cure  gave  him  the  last  absolution  and  bless- 
ing.   The  dear  old  man  said  to  me,  *  You  will  tcU 


ill 


ii 
i 


296 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


M.  George  that  I  liave  had  the  last  sacraments, 
and  ask  him  to  pray  for  me.'" 

*- 0  \ou  good  little  anjsjel  !"  George  exclaimed, 
"you  were  with  him,  then,  and  he  did  not  die 
uncomforted." 

"  Till  I  arrived  he  would  not  listen  to  M.  Cur6, 
and  kept  calling  for  you.  But  it  seemed  to  calm 
him  when  I  came  and  spoke  of  you.  He  wanted  to 
send  you  a  message." 

"  What  message  was  it  ?" 

Rose  colored  deeply,  turned  her  head  away,  and 
was  silent.  ^ 

'^  I  cannot  toll  you  now  ;  another  time,  perhaps." 

"  I  gncss  what  it  was,"  George  said  gently,  tak- 
ing her  hand  in  his  and  making  her  turn  towards 
him.  "  Was  it  to  tell  me  that  we  are  to  love  one 
another  ?  " 

Rcse  blushed,  and  George  kissed  her  for  the  first 
time  ;  then,  taking  her  hand,  he  said  : 

"Let  us  go  up  together,  my  wife,  and  pray  by 
the  side  of  our  dear  old  friend,  and  promise  God 
that  wc  shall  do  what  he  wished.  Shall  we  not 
love  each  other,  Ro;e,  and  together  serve  God  ?  " 

"Like  the  good  Duke  Louis  and  his  dear  St. 
Ehzabetb,"  Rose  said,  pointing  to  the  volume  on 
the  sofa. 

George  sufiled  through  his  tears,  and  they  went 
up  together  to  the  room  where  old  Vincent's  body 
was  laid  out,  with  a  crncifix  Oii  his  breast  and 
fresh  flowers,  gathered  by  Rose,  at  his  feet.  There 
they  renewed  their  marriage  vows,  c^nd  prayed  a 
long  time  side  by  side. 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


297 


Ifc  was  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  they 
came  down-stuira  and  went  out  on  the  terrace, 
where  the  birds  were  singing  and  the  gentle 
morning  breeze  stirred  the  braichcs  of  the  aca- 
cias. One  (f  the  maid-servants,  who  had  found 
out  George's  arrival,  and  seen  him  from  the 
kitchen  crossing  the  hall,  askel  if  they  would  have 
coffee  under  the  trees  and  something  to  eat,  an 
offer  which  they  gladly  accepted,  for  the  fatigues 
and  emotions  of  the  last  few  hours  had  rat^her 
exhausted  them.  The  meal  was  a  silent  one. 
Their  hearts  were  too  full  for  speech,  but  hovv 
different  was  that  silence  from  that  of  their  meals 
at  Belbousquet !  Now  and  then  their  eyes  met, 
and  then  on  Rose's  cheeks,  which  were  paler  than 
usual,  a  deep  color  suddenly  rose  and  made  her 
look  prettier  than  ever. 

He  could  hardly  believe  she  was  the  same  girl  he 
once  thought  so  uninteresting,  and,  in  truth,  never 
had  a  greater  change  perhaps  taken  place  in  so 
short  a  time  than  the  last  few  weeks  had  wrought 
in  his  young  wife. 

They  had  awakened  in  her  new  feelings  of  a 
double  sort :  strong  religious  impressions  and  a 
human  affection,  pure,  and  hallowed  by  a  sacred 
tie.  The  light  of  faith  had  shone  on  iier  soul  like 
a  sunbeam,  and  a  timid  love  for  her  husband  had 
arisen  simultaneously.  No  wonder  that  her  coun- 
tenance was  transfigured,  no  wonder  that  Ike  com- 
monplace prettiness  of  a  thoughtless  girl  had  be- 
come womanly  beauty  of  a  higher  order.  Suffer- 
ing had  paled  her  cheek,  and  she  had  grown  thm- 


298 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


%. 


ner,  but  it  had  given  a  tcnt^erness  to  l.er  soft  eyes 
aud  a  BweetDess  to  her  smile  svhicii  toaclied  and 
captivated  George.  As  to  Rose,  it  was  not  quite 60 
new  to  her  to  admire  George's  dark  eyes  and 
thoughtful  brow.  She  remembered  how  often  by 
stealth  s'.e  hai  looked  at  him  at  Bclbousquct. 
Slie  thought  of  those  melancholy  moments  when 
nothing  but  a  few  cold  unmeaning  words  passed 
t  eir  lips,  and  enjoyed  a  silenca  which  seemed  to 
express  more  than  eitlier  of  them  could  utter  just 
then. 

But  when  the  meal  was  finished  they  held  a  con- 
sultation, still  sitting  under  the  acacia  trees.  What 
should  they  do  ?  George's  parents  were  expected 
that  evening  at  La  Pinede.  Shou'd  ihey  wait  for 
them  or  return  to  Belbousquet  ?  Rose  blushed 
and  said,  "  What  would  vou  like  to  do  ?  " 

"What  I  should  like,"  he  said,  "  would  be  to 
stroll  slowly,  very  slowly,  through  the  woods  to 
our  little  villa ;  to  borrow  for  you  Matthias's 
donkey,  which  we  can  bring  back  to-morrow  ;  to 
take  with  us  some  provisions,  and  dine  in  the  olive 
grove  by  the  side  of  a  well  I  have  often  sketched  ; 
to  rest  at  noon  in  the  shade,  and  arrive  at  home 
late  in  the  afternoon." 

Rose  did  not  answer ;  a  large  tear  rolled  down 
her  cheek  and  fell  on  one  of  the  wallflowers  sl:e 
held  in  her  hand.  George  took  the  flowers  from 
her,  and  said  : 

"What  makes  you  cry.  Rose  ?  Do  tell  me ;  I 
want  to  know." 

"It  is  nothing,"  she  said,  raising  her  tearful 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


299 


eyes  to  his  and  smiling;  "I  am  so  glad  you  are 
come  back."  And  she  gently  laid  her  hand  on  his 
with  so  deep  a  blush  that  for  a  moment  she  looked 
«s  rosy  as  ever. 

"  But,  then,  why  do  you  cry  ?  "  he  asked,  again 
kissing  her  small  hand« 

'*  Oh  1  I  c .nnot  explain  it" 

"  But  you  ought  to  tell  me ;  you  know  that  I 
must  always  be  your  best  friend,  your  comforter, 
Eoe." 

She  smiled,  and  said,  *'  I  cried  very  often  during 
those  days  at  Belbousquet,  only  you  did  not  notice 
it." 

**0h!  will  you  ever  forgive  the  odious,  sulky, 
unkind  wretch  who  treated  you  so  ill,  who  was  so 
cold  and  so  unjust  to  you,  who  was  determined  to 
think  you  hated  him  ?  0  my  dear  li  >6e  !  you  will 
never  know,  you  will  never  understand — " 

He  hid  his  face  in  his  hands  and  remained 
silt-nt. 

**  George,"  she  gently  said,  "T  know — I  under- 
stand it  all.  1  know  what  you  have  felt,  what 
you  have  suffered,  and  I  am  glad  that  it  was  one 
so  good,  so  holy,  that  you  loved.  We  can  think  of 
her  and  speak  of  her  together,  as  if  she  was  an 
angel  protcc  ing  us." 

George  looked  up  greatly  surprised.  "  Who  told 
you  about  her  ?    How  did  you  hear  ?  " 

**  Oh  !  if  you  knew  how  I  have  gazed  on  her  pic- 
ture, wishing  I  had  been  like  her,  and  repeated  to 
myself  thos3  lines  beginning,  *  If  thou  hadst  been 
the  gu  ding  light. 


>»> 


rill 

(11;  :IA 


ii!i  ii 


300 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


"  You  are  a  little  witch,  Rose,"  George  exclaim- 
ed, rather  agitated  ;  "  no  one  hot  myself  ever  knew 
of  those  lines," 

"  O  sir  I  it  took  a  long  time  to  put  together  the 
little  bits  of  paper  scattered  on  the  grass  behind 
the  old  bench,''  Rose  said  with  a  smile. 

**  So  yoa  know  all,  and  you  forgive  me  ?  Then 
you  are  a  perfect  angel,"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Oh  I  no,"  she  answered,  **  it  is  so  easy  to  for- 
give when  one  is  happy;  and  1  think  you  have  also 
something  to  forgive.'* 

George  looked  up  anxiously.  **  Had  you,  Rose^ 
cared — " 

*'For  any  one  else  before  I  naarried  you  ?  Oh  t 
BO,  never  ;  but,  Geoi-ge,  that  look  when  you  spoke 
to  me  at  the  Capucins,  which  made  you  write  that 
terrible  letter,  I  am  sa  sorry  I  ever  looked  at  you 
rn  that  way."" 

"  Never  mind  how  you  looked  at  me  then,  Rose, 
so  that  you  will  often  look  at  me  as  you  are  doing 
now.'* 

And  thus  thoy  talked  an  for  some  time,  and  then 
George  went  to  order  the  donkey  and  ta  store  a 
basket  with  their  noonday  meal. 

Rose  sat  on,  wondering  at  the  change  which  ft 
few  short  hours^  had  effected  in  her  life.  The 
scenes  of  the  last  night  imparted  a  solemn  and  affect- 
ing character  ta  tliis  new-found  happiness.  Old 
Vincent's  dying  wish  was  amply  fulfilled.  She 
looked  up  at  the  windows  of  the  room  where  the 
old  man  had  died,  and  breathed  a  prayer  for  his 
soitl.    Just  then  the  sound  of  a  hcrse*s  feet  in  the 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


301 


arenue  startled  her,  ancl,  tuniing  her  eyes  that  way, 
8!;e  saw  a  man  trotting  up  the  avenue.  As  he 
reached  the  bottom  of  the  terrace  sho  saw  him  tic 
his  liorse  to  a  tree  and  rapidly  mount  the  steps. 

It  was  Art6mon  Richer.  He  Cimc  up  to  her 
wi  h  a  broad  smile  on  his  face,  and  begun  with 
great  volubility  to  express  his  anxiety  at  heariiig 
f  at  she  was  alone  at  La  Pinede,  and  that  some 
one  had  died  there  in  the  nigh'. 

"It  was  a  horrible  thing/'  he  said,  *•  that  all  of 
t'ds  anxiety  and  trouble  should  have  devolved  upon 
her.  He  had  heard  at  Belbousquet,  where  he  had 
called  to  pay  his  respects,  that  AL  le  Baron  was  ab- 
sent from  home,  tha'.  none  of  iiis  family  were  at  La 
Pin^do,  and  M.  L3scalle  on  an  electioneering  tour, 
and  it  had  occurred  to  hiru  t.iat  the  services  of  a 
li'iend  might  be  acceptable,  or,  at  any  rate,"  he 
added,  with  a  deep  sigh  and  a  very  sentimental  ex- 
pression of  countenance,  *'the  intense  sympathy  of 
one  who  could  never  cease  to  feel  a  most  respectful 
fiolicitude  for  her  happiness,  and  an  ardent  desire 
to  relieve  her  of  any  cares  or  troubles  which,  iu  her 
loneliness,  must  so  heavily  weigh  upon  her  mind." 

Rose — partly  from  fatigue,  and  partly  from  tlve 
sad  and  then  joyful  emotions  she  had  undergone — 
was  in  that  state  where  tears  and  laughter  are  both 
readily  cxnited.  There  was  something  so  ridiculous 
in  the  ail  ctation  of  profound  sensibility  which  the 
joily  and  impudent  Artemon  assumed,  and  which 
suited  so'  ill  with  his  broad,  liandsonie,  but  vulgar 
face,  tiiat  her  risible  nerves  were  stimulated  bevond 
control,  and  to  hide  that  she  was  bursting  with  laugh- 


'mm- 


302 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


ter  she  put  hcrhankercbitf  before  her  moat'j.  The 
sight  of  the  handkerchief  raised  to  her  face  instaDt- 
Ij  convinced  Art^mon  that  she  was  deeply  affected 
by  his  sympathy,  and  he  wras  beginning  a  speech 
with  the  exclamation  of,  "Ah  I  madame,"  the  se- 
quel of  whiCh  was  abruptly  cut  short  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  George,  who  came  out  of  the  house  to 
announce  ihut  the  donkey  was  at  the  door  anl  the 
basket  of  provisions  ready. 

He  started  at  the  sight  of  Artemon,  and  fo  did 
that  gentleman.  Rose  stood  up,  and,  commanding 
her  countenance  as  well  as  she  could,  she  said  to 
her  husb:ind : 

**  M.  Richer  called  to  offer  me  his  services  about 
the  an^angemcnts  with  regard  to  poor  Vincent's 
funeral.  It  was  very  kind  of  him.  He  did  nofc 
know  you  had  returned." 

The  corners  of  Rose's  little  mouth  gave  visible 
sigtis  that  the  would  not  bo  able  much  longer  to 
keep  her  countenance. 

George,  on  the  contrary,  made  a  very  formal, 
courteous  bow  to  M.  Richer,  and  thanked  him  for 
his  civility  with  a  self-possession  and  dignity  of 
manner  that  took  the  disappointed  Artemon  en- 
tirely by  surprise. 

**  Oh  !  of  course/'  he  said,  "  as  M.  le  Bapn  was  at 
liome  there  could  be  no  occasion  for  any  other  as- 
sistance. Still,  if  be  could  be  of  any  use,  he  hoped, 
as  a  neighbor,  they  would  command  his  services — " 
And  far  once  In  his  life  Artemon  became  confused, 
and  broke  off  in  the  middle  of  his  civil  speech 
rather  abruptly  and  with  a  heightened  color. 


■II 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


303 


Georgft  spoka  calmly  and  civilly  to  the  embar- 
rassed visi.or,  hinted  that  his  wife  and  himself 
must  at  oncD  set  out  on  their  homeward  way,  and 
begged  him  to  exenso  their  leaving  lim,  at  the 
same  time  begging  him  to  rest  his  horse  a::d  take 
some  refreshment. 

As  Rosp  looked  at  t'icso  two  men  as  they  stood 
s^de  by  side,  and  contrasted  the  vuigar,  gigantic 
bourgeois  with  the  re(i.ied,  pale,  and  sensitive 
young  man  of  high  birth  and  gentle  breeding  who 
was  speaking  to  him,  the  thought  of  all  she  had 
escaped,  of  all  that  had  been  given  to  her,  rushed 
upon  her  mind,  and  this  time  it  was  tears,  not 
laughter,  she  had  to  hide. 

Artemon  bowed,  departed,  and  rode  down  the 
avenue.  Orce  he  looked  back,  and  the  picture 
which  met  hi3  eyes  was  Sose  mounted  on  her  don- 
key and  George  passing  the  bridle  on  his  arm.  He 
saw  her  lovely  face  turned  toward  her  husband  with 
a  look  of  inexpressible  sweetness  and  peaceful  con- 
tentment, and  his  attitude  of  unmistakable  fond 
attention  to  his  iittle  wife.  Did  this  sight  enrage 
him,  or  did  it  give  him  an  entirely  new  ider.  as  to 
ipve  and  marriage—an  idea  tending  to  make  him  a 
somewhat  better  man,  and,  possibly,  when  he,  too, 
married,  later  on,  a  better  husband  than  he  would 
otherwise  have  been  ?  We  cannot  tell ;  seeds  are 
some^ia\es  sown  on  unpromising  soil  which  bear 
unexpected  fruits.  Perhaps  Artemon  Richer  de- 
rived some  faint  notion  of  the  sanctity  and  beauty 
of  wedded  love  from  the  glimpse  he  had  of  it  that 


liiil 


*i  ifl 


X^%W 


.*ijt. 


CHAPTER  XXI.    . 

A  SiadxL  THROUGH   THE  WOODS. 

TuEEE  are  hours,  eren  on  carMi,  of  nearly  per- 
fect liappin*'gs.  Such  were  those  during  which 
George  de  Vedellca  and  his  wife  rode  and  walked 
r  ross  the  hcautiful  \n\hi  and  through  the  woods 
which  separated  Li  Pin6de  from  Bclbousquet.  Their 
hearts  had  b.cn  softened  ty  their  sorrow  at  old 
Vincent's  death,  and  were  prepared  to  welcome 
happiness  in  a  spirit  not  of  wild  excitement,  but  of 
humble  and  peaceful  joy.  Every  moment  they  be- 
came mire  and  more  at  ease  with  each  other. 

The  deep  solitude  of  those  shady  groves,  the 
perfume  which  the  thyme;  trodden,  under  the 
donkey's  feet,  exhaled,  the  fitful  play  of  the  sun- 
shine on  the  greensward,  the  hum  of  the  wild 
bees,  seemed  to  chime  in  with  the  glad  thoughts 
which  both  were  dwelling  on  during  nioments  of 
eilcncG  which  seemed  to  unite  their  souls  even 
more  closely  than  conversation.  They  often  thus 
remained  without  speaking,  and  it  was  not  till  they 
made  their  midday  halt  by  the  stdc  of  the  well 
George  had  described  that  they  talked   much   lo 

one  another.    There,  sitting  on  the  moss,  lie  told 

S04 


■P 


The  Notary  s  Daughter' 


30s 


Rose  the  whole  history  of  his  past  life.  Ho  de- 
scribed to  her  all  he  had  suffered  from  the  duj 
that,  recovering  from  what  had  appeared  a  hope- 
less illness,  he  hud  begun  to  regain  physical 
strength  by  slow  degrees,  an<l  at  the  same  tiao  felt 
a  deadly  weight  oppressing  his  mentuT  faculties  and 
his  moral  energies  to  a  degree  which  made  exer- 
tion impossible,  but  at  the  same  time  left  him  in 
full  pcBsession  of  his  imaginaiive  powers,  which 
seemed  to  thrive  like  wild  flowers  in  a  xallo  v  soil. 
"Like  those  wild  flowers,"  he  saidy  "  which  run 
over  the  waste  grounds  of  La  Piuede,  and  which 
for  that  reason  I  loved  and  piiied  when — " 

"  When  I  said  they  ought  to  be  rooted  out.  0 
George  1 1  have  learut  so  much  since  tiien.  But  go 
on,  tell  me  all  about  that  time  of  your  life." 

**  Well,  I  got  into  the  habit  of  taking  long  soli- 
^^ary  walks;  I  never  fell;  happy  except  when  alone 
in  ihe  woods  and  the  narrow  valleys  rouad  Valsec. 
I  liked  to  remain  whole  days  lying  down  on  a 
mosiy  bunk,  listening  to  the  noise  of  iho  wind 
amongst  the  fir-trees,  and  gazing  on  the  magnifi- 
cent outline  of  the  Jura  mountains.  How  many 
evenings,  too,  I  spent  gazing  at  the  stars  through 
the  quivering  branches  above  my  head,  the  sights 
and  sounds  of  nature  in  those  wild  solitude^j  filled 
me  with  new  thought^,  new  emotions,  new  percep- 
tions, and,  I  may  say,  new  powers,  for  though  I 
had  lost  the  use  of  faculties  which  had  been  over- 
strained before  my  illness,  God  seemed  mercifully 
to  make  up  for  it  by  turning  my  mind  in  another 
direction.     1  discovered  that  I  possessed  a  talent  I 


PI 


fjl' 


iiti! 


ill' 


3o6 


The  Notary' s  Daughter, 


had,  till  then,  been  iinconscions  of.  I  felt  that  I 
was  meant  to  be  a  poet.  But  I  could  no",  speak  to 
others  of  tkis  gifr.  A  sort  of  strange  wayward  re- 
serve took  possession  of  my  t'orl  and  made  me 
averse  to  disclose  what  sometimes  I  feared  was  only 
a  Belf-deception,  a  c^jildish  illusion.  I  dreaded  my 
mother's  questions,  ray  father's  t  Tn,  my  brotlier's 
ridicule.  Meanwhile,  my  devotion  to  poetry  be- 
came so  absorbing  tha^,  it  made  me  silent,  absent, 
and  unsocial.  I  cared  for  nothing  but  to  be  alone, 
to  hold  convene  with  nature  and  drink  in  and  ex- 
press in  verso  t'te  strange  new  thouglita  that  filled 
my  mind.  When  we  loft  Valsec  and  came  to  live 
at  Li  Pine'lo  I  beheld  the  sea  for  the  first  time. 
You  cannot  understand.  Rose,  you  who  have 
always  lived  on  this  coas^,  the  emotion  I  felt  at  the 
sight  of  that  boundless  expanse  of  deep  blue,  and 
the  sparkling  silvered  waves  breaking  on  t'lO  soft 
aand,  or  dashing  against  the  rocks  ;  they  seemed  to 
mo  as  if  they  were  singing  hymns  of  joy  and  praise, 
or  sometimes  whispering  wailing  complaints,  und  I 
longed  to  give  words  to  t'lat  wild  music.  Does 
this  seem  nonsense  (o  you,  U  se  ?" 

^'Ko,  George.  It  is  all  very  new  to  me,  but  it 
g**ves  mo  pleasure  to  listen  to  what  you  say.  Oh  I 
1  understand  now  why  you  were  seen  sometimes  nt 
night  and  ear!y  in  the  morning  walking  up  and 
down  the  sea-shore  talking  to  yourrelf.  People 
though  t-—" 

*  That  I  was  out  of  my  min^l  ?  I  know  I  hey 
did.  I  sometimes  used  to  ••ee  children,  and  women 
too,  rmining  away  as  if  they  had  scea  a  ghost ;  but 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


307 


I  did  nob  care  about  H,  I  was  so  engrossed  wifclx  my 
own  dreams.  Oh  I  how  it  Uied  to  vex  mo  when 
my  father  complained  of  the  odious  shingle  a  on  the 
beach,  my  mother  of  the  «ind,  and  Jacques  of  the 
sameness  of  the  sea  view.  It  was  as  if  people  had 
attacked  a  dear  friend  of  mine.  I  found  it  more  and 
more  difficult  to  converse  wilh  those  who  seemed  to 
think  tvervthin":  I  said  more  or  less  foolish.  Even 
my  dear  mother,  tender  and  kind  as  she  always 
was,  spoke  to  me  and  of  me  as  if  I  had  been  a  weak 
and  fanciful  child.  She  struggled  to  ob'ain  for 
her  wayward  son  full  liberty  to  lead,  on  account  of 
his  health,  th^  life  he  pleased,  but  which  she  sup- 
posed (o  bo  an  utterly  aimless  one.  T..ey  little 
knew  how  hard,  iu  once  sense,  I  worked  during 
t  ose  hours  of  solitud<%  not  as  a  student  over  his 
bo  ks,  but  as  a  gardener  who  must  have  for  his 
helpers  the  spring  showers,  the  summer  sunshine. 
It  was  a  strange,  lonely  existence,  but  not  quite  an 
unhappy  one  till — " 

G«^orge  stopped,  and  E  ^se  pressed  his  hand  and 
Ba?d  in  a  low  voice  : 

"Go  on,  let  me  hear  what  you  felt,  whaC  you 
hoped,  and  what  you  suffered  from  the  day  yoa 
first  saw  Mademoiselle  de  la  Pin6x]e  ?*' 

"Do  you  really  wish  me  to  open  my  heart  to 
you  entirely  ?  ** 

"  Every  corner  and  recess  of  it,"  Rose  answered 

Then  he  related  to  her  the  whole-  history  of 
Deuise's  first  vidt  to  La  Pin6de,  of  the  love  at  first 
sight  wliic'i  had  taken  possession  0:  his  heart,  of 
bis  hopes  against  hope  that  it  would  meet  with  a 


i!^: 


'■'  \ 

ill 


lllli 


ir 


■,:'5 


3o8 


The  Notary'.s  Daughter. 


return  ;  of  the  days  she  had  spent  in  his  mother's 
sick  room ;  of  the  admiration  and  reverence  with 
wl.icli  he  had  watched  her  life  of  heroic  perfection, 
and  the  enthusiasm  which  had  made  his  love  of  her 
a  worship;  the  despair  he  had  felt  at  her  retire- 
ment from  the  world,  an  I  the  consequent  despon- 
dency which  had  rendered  him  iudiilerentand  list- 
less to  everything  regarding  his  future  fate.  Here 
Lc  paused,  and  another  pressure  of  ilosc's  hand 
made  him  again  exclaim  : 

*'  Oh  I  I  never  understood  how  wrong  it  was  to 
marry  as  I  did.  How  Hard  it  was  upon  you  !  How 
easily  we  might  botl^  have  been  wretched  for  life  ! 
No  thanks  to  me,  Rose,  if  we  are,  on  the  contrary, 
so  much  happier  than  I  deserve  I  '* 

**  No  thanks  to  either  of  us,  George.  ThanKs  to 
God's  great  goodness  to  us.  Bat  tell  me,  wnen 
did  you  change  ?  YThen  did  you  begin  to  feel  that 
you  could  care  about  me  ?  I  nave  told  you,  sir, 
how  I  surprised  your  secrets,  how  I  read  what  you 
wrote,  h  AV  I  heard  from  Toinette  and  Benoite 
that  you  were  good  and  clever,  and  then  began — *' 

"  To  love  me  ?"  George  saiu,  in  a  low  voice. 

Eose  did  not  repeat  the  words,  but  slie  hid  her 
face  with  her  hands,  and  tears  trickled  down 
throi>gh  her  slender  fingers,  which  he  tenderly 
kissed  awfiy,    . 

And  then  he  told  her  of  the  promise  he  had 
made  to  Denise  in  a  thoughtless  hour  and  the  use 
she  made  of  it.  Ho  related  to  he  r  the  way  in  which 
she  had  stopped  his  departure  and  pointed  out  to 
him  the  fault  he  had  been  on  the  point  of  com- 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


309 


mitting.  He  said  that  even  during  tlio  dajs  of 
Belbousquet  he  had  been  sornetimes  touched  by 
Hose's  patient  endurance  of  his  hateful  conduct, 
which  ho  now  saw  m  its  true  light,  but  that  he 
had  hardened  his  heart  by  a  sort  of  perverse  obstin- 
acy, and  persisted  in  his  rash  resolution. 

^•^  But,"  ho  continued,  **  w!ien  she  told  me — you 
must  forgive  her  for  it,  ^osc — that  you  were  begin 
ning  to  love  your  uuWv^rthy  and  ungracious  hus- 
band, I,  too,  began,  my  little  darling,  to  sec  what  a 
madman  I  was  to  mn  away  from  one  whom  God 
had  given  me  for  my  own;  and  wL  in  I  found  you 
at  La  Pinede,  where  you  had  been  a  ministering 
angel  to  my  poor  old  Vincent ;  when  I  saw  you  in 
that  room  where  I  had  suil'.  red  so  much  ;  when  you 
opened  ^hose  soft  blue  eyes  of  yours  and  looked  at 
me  with  such  inexpressible  sweetness,  I  fell  in  love 
with  you,  dear  Rose,  and  that  is  the  end  of  my 
story.**  He  paused,  and  then  added,  "the  begin- 
ning of  a  now  life." 

Time  passed  away  in  those  mutual  outpourings, 
and  it  was  long  before  George  and  Hose  could  think 
or  soeak  of  anything  but  their  own  history  during 
the  last  few  weeks ;  but  before  they  left  their  rest- 
ing place — a  spot  neither  of  them  ever  forgot  as  the 
scene  of  their  new-found  happiness — George  drew 
from  his  pocket  the  small  parcel  which  Aloys  de 
Belmont  ph  3ed  in  bis  hands  just  Jis  he  was  leaving 
the  ship  on  the  previous  day.  His  checks  flushed 
a  little  as  he  read  a  letter  it  contained  and  then 
glanced  at  some  newspapers  enclosed  in  it.  Rose 
watched  him,  and  wondered  what  it  could  be  which 


i 


Is 


3IO 


The  Notary  s  DatigJitcr. 


emotion.     At  last  he 


seemed  to  cause  bini  so  much 
said: 

*•  Uore,  I  am  so  glad  for  yon  I  1  hope  it  is  not 
*  j'ridc  ihat  makes  me  rejoice  at  this  news.  Read 
this  letter  and  these  papers,  my  darling,  and  thank 
God  with  me  that  I  may  perhaps  be  yet  of  some  lit 
tie  use  in  the  world,  though  not  a  deputy,"  he  add- 
ed with  a  smile. 

They  would  have  been  d  pretty  study  for  a  pain- 
ter, those  two  young  creatures,  sitting  on  a  mossy 
bank,  the  quivering  light  through  t.e  pine-trees 
shining  upon  them  through  tho  green  branches, 
and  the  c  xpression  of  their  faces  as  variable  as  tho^o 
lights  and  shadows  which  changed  wi  h  every 
breeze,  his  eager,  pale  face  slightly  flushe"\  his 
dark  eyes  kindling,  and  hers  filling  with  tears  as 
she  read  the  papers  he  placed  in  her  hands. 

Oh  I  it  was  a  glorious  moment  for  the  young  cou- 
ple, one  of  those  unexpected  pleasures  that  make 
the  hearc  beat  for  joy.  The  letter  was  addressed  to 
Aloys  de  Belmont.  It  was  from  a  literary  friend 
of  his  in  Paris,  who  had  transacted  the  publication 
of  a  volume  of  George  de  Vedelles*  poetry.  It  had 
just  appeared  under  an  assumed  name,  and  its  suc- 
cess had  been  instantaneous. 

"Your  friend's  verses,"  he  wrote,  "are  in  every 
one's  hands,  and  there  is  but  one  opinion  as  to  tho 
remarkably  talent  they  evince.  M.  de  Lamartine 
praises  them,  Dclphine  Gay  has  already  recited  the,, 
*  Ode  to  the  Stormy  Petrel,*  people  talk  of  nothing 
else.  The  *Lays  of  Provence*  have  made  quite  a 
sensation.    The  general  impression  is  that  France 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


3" 


possesses  a  i)e»v  poet,  and  one  wh*  se  inspirations  are 
derived  from  the  purest  sources,  u  tlteply  religious 
spirit  and  an  intense  love  of  nature." 

The  reviews  which  accompanied  this  letter  all 
praised  the  originality  and  b«auty  of  George's 
poems.  A  few  criticisms  were  mingled  with  the 
most  gratifying  enc.uragemenr. 

This  was,  indeel,  a  filling  up  of  their  cup  of  hap- 
piness. Rose  itiserted  the  precious  docu-jients  into 
her  bag  and  would  not  part  with  it  for  a  moment. 
She  rode  her  donkey  with  a  feeling  of  triumph 
which  made  her  now  and  then  break  out  into  little 
incomprehensible  exclamations.  But  when  George 
said,  "Would  dear  old  Vincent  could  have  known 
this  ! "  then  her  poor  little  heart,  so  full  of  various 
emotions,  ovfirfloweil,  and  she  burst  Into  teara.  If 
for  many  a  year  George  had  tilently  suffered  from 
the  absence  of  s.^mpathy,  it  was  amply  made  up  to 
him  that  dav. 


..it' 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


ALL   IS   WELL  THAT   EIJ-DS   WELL. 


Now  we  must  shift  the  scene,  retrace  our  steps, 
and  relate  what  had  happened  during  the  last  two 
days  to  other  personages  of  our  story,  and  what  had 
been  in  particular  Madame  Lescalle's  state  of  mind 
and  course  of  action  since  she  had  received  a  visit 
from  Thereson  on  the  afternoon  after  Misc  Med6 
and  Rose  had  left  Belbousqnet  for  Marsi^illes. 

Her  husband  had  been  devoting  himself  to  the 
business  of  Jact^ucs  de  Vedelles'  eleciion,  and  hia 
efforts  were  crowned  wiih  success.  Thanks  to  his 
unremitting  exenions,  and  the  popular  manners 
and  gift  of  speaking  which  hiu  candidate  possessed, 
the  young  count  had  been  returned  by  a  fair  ma- 
jority. The  news  of  his  election  reach  M.  and 
Madame  de  Vedelles  in  Paris,  and  made  them  re- 
solve to  return  at  once  to  La  Pinede,  where  Jacques 
wished  to  invite  some  of  his  constituents  and 
fintert:ain  the  neighbors. 

It  was  a<lifferent  kind  of  life  opening  before  the 
now  deputy's  parents.  M.  do  V6delles  was  enchant- 
ed and  in  high  good  humor,  Madame  de  Vedelles 
pleased  but  preoccupied  and  anxious  about  her 
youngest  son,  whoso  short  and  uncommunicative 

letters  left  her  in  complete  doubt  as  to  his  feelings 

818       • 


The  Notary  s  DaugJiter. 


313 


about  his  wife  and  iiis  prospects  of  happiness  in 
domestic  life.  She  loiigod  to  judge  of  this  by  her 
own  eyes,  and  had  been  in  consequence  glad  to 
leave  Paris  and  travel  southward.  It  was  settled 
that  ihey  should  sleep  one  night  at  Draguignan  to 
meet  Jacques  and  M.  Toussaiut  Lescalle,  and  on 
the  following  day  to  return  together  to  La  Pi- 
nede. 

This  plan  was  eo  far  earned  out  that  they  did 
arrive  at  the  quaint,  old-fashioned  hotel  of  that 
provincial  town  on  the  appointed  day,  and  had  a 
pleasa'nt  meeting  with  their  son,  who  was  radiant 
with  delight  at  his  new  honors,  anf^  looking  the 
picture  of  happiness.  There  was  also  a  broad  grin 
on  M.  Lcscalle's  face,  and  tlie  reciprocal  cordiality 
between  the  members  of  t'ds  family  party  as  they 
sat  down  to  dinner  left  nothing  to  dcdirc. 

It  was  a  lovely  evening,  the  same  evening  on  which 
George  de  Vedelles  had  stood  on  the  deck  of  the  Jean 
Bart,  on  the  point  of  sailing  away  from  France, 
and  on  which  Rose  had  knelt  by  the  side  of  the 
dying  old  servant  at  Li  Pinede,  as  the  setting  sun 
poured  into  the  room  its  iast  bright  beams.  Acacia 
and  catalpa  trees  shaded  the  window  of  ^hc  inn 
where  the  De  Vedelles  and  M.  Lcscallt  were  enjoy- 
ing a  good  dinner  and  the  rcminiscencos  of  the 
electoral  struggle,  so  happily  successful.  Under 
Ihe  shade  of  tlioso  lovely  trees  they  sipped  their 
coffee,  and  continued  this  interesting  conversation. 
They  would  all  most  likely  have  slept  very  well  that 
night,  and  dreamed  of  balloting  urns  and  huzzas 
and  speeches  on  the  hustings  and  in  the  Ohamkr, 


■   i! 


i'i 


!<'  1 


\\ 


!!■ 


t 


4ii  Jli 


i-r\ 


314 


TJie  Notary's  Daughter. 


if,  just  KS  t  jcy  were  wishing  f  acli  other  good-night 
and  going  to  their  respective  rooms,  a  messenger 
had  not  arrive-d  post-haste  with  two  letters  from 
Madame  L  seal  c,  addressed  one  t)  her  hnsband 
and  the  other  to  the  Countess  de  Vedelles. 

"What  can  have  happened?"  M.  Lescalle 
thought,  and  Madame  dc  Vedellrs  said.  *  Of 
course,  as  happens  in  such  cases,  iu  the  twinkling 
of  an  rye,  and  whilst  opening  these  missives,  all 
Lorts  of  terrible  possibilities  crossed  their  minds. 

Tie  coaionts  relieved  them  fiom  the  fear  of  some 
absolutely  fatal  announcement,  but  left  them*  agi- 
tated, perpl  xcd,  and  bewildered.  What  a  dreadful 
specimen  of  the  art  of  tormenting  it  is  to  leave 
people  in  suspense  as  to  some  communication, 
the  nature  of  which  they  cannot  guess  at,  and 
about  which  imag'nation  is  allowed  full  play  I 
Madame  Lescalle's  letters  proved  a  wonderful  in- 
stance of  this  kind  of  itidictioo.  The  one  to  her 
1  us')and  wus  as  follows  : 

MoN  Ami  :  Finding  from  your  last  letter  that 
you  were  tu  dine  and  sleep  at  Draguignan  to-day, 
to  meet  tie  Count  and  Countess  de  Vedelles  and 
ti  eir  eldest  s  n,  I  think  it  my  duty  to  inform  you 
that  it  is  of  the  most  urgent  importance  that  Uiey 
and  you  aivi  your  sister,  whom  1 1  ave  also  written 
to,  should  meet  me  to-morrow  at  Belbousquet,  to 
confer  on  a  subject  of  the  deepest  gravity,  upon 
which  it  is  necessary  that  some  decision  should  be 
ufc  once  arrived  at. 

Your  daughter's  happiness  is  at  stake,  and  so  is 
the  honor  of  our  family.     An  immedia'e  separa- 


fWP 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


315 


tion  between  her  and  liCr  despicable  1  iisband  must 
bo  legally  arranged.  We  arc  not  goin*]j  to  be  trod- 
den under  foot  by  tbcse  aristocrats,  and  our  child 
despised  and  insulted.  I  have  not  been  eo  explicit 
in  my  letter  to  the  countess — [''  Explitit,  indeed  !  '* 
M.  Lescalle  muttered  between  bis  teeth,  as  ho 
glanced  down  the  page,  and  saw  that  it  ended  onljr 
with  these  words] — I  have  contented  myself  with 
telling  her  that  it  is  absolutely  necessary  I  should 
sec  her  and  t!ic  count,  and  that  from  ten  o'clock 
in  the  morning  i  shall  be  awai!ing  them  and  you 
at  Bclbou  quct. 

The  countess  had  changed  color  whilst  reading 
Madame  Lescalle'd  short  note  to  her.  Si;e  handed 
it  to  her  husbar.d,  and  then  said  in  a  quiet  man- 
ner, though  with  a  trembling  voice^  to  M.  Lescalle : 
*' Can  you  throw  any  light  on  this  summons?  I 
see  you  have  also  received  a  letter  from  your  wife." 

M.  Lescalle  resolved  in  his  own  mind  to  make 
light  of  the  matfter  until  more  was  known  on  the 
bubjrct,  so  with  a  shrug  he  said  :  "  My  ideu  is  that 
Madame  L2scalle  has  planned  a  little  practical  joke 
in  order  to  have  the  pleasure  of  assembling  us  al!  at 
Belbousquet,  which  she  has  been  dying  to  show  to 
Madame  la  Comtesse." 

Madame  deVedelles' face  showed  how  litf,le  she 
could  accept  that  supposition.  The  old  count's 
bow  darkened,  and  he  sat  with  a  curled  lip  and 
an  expression  of  deep  di-pleasure,  which  made 
Jacques  go  up  io  him  and  say,  after  reading  Madame 
Lescalle's  note : 

"I  have  no  doubt  as  to  what  has  happened. 


3i6 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


The  young  people  have  had  some  little  dispute. 
Madame  Lcscalle,  naturally  enough,  has  taken  her 
daughter's  part  and  a  tragical  view  of  the  matter. 
Mothers  fire  up  easily  jn  such  matters,  don't  thcj, 
madamc  ? "  he  said,  going  up  to  his  mother  and 
putting  his  arm  round  her  waist.  'Now,  I  really 
think  the  best  hing  will  be  to  accept  Madame  Les- 
calle's  rendezvous,  and  post  off  as  last  as  wc  can 
to-morrow  to  meet  her  and  our  young  couple.  Is 
not  that  your  opinion,  M.  Lescalle  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  quite  agree  with  you,  M.  Jacques. 
My  wife,  incomparable  as  a  wife  and  mother,  has 
one  only  defect,  and  that  is  to  fly  into  a  passion  on 
trifling  occasions.  She  goes  off  like  a  rocket,  and 
out  again  just  as  fast.  I  need  not  say,"  added  the 
little  man,  drawing  himself  up,  **  that  if  M.  George 
de  Vodelles  has  insulted  or  ill-treated  my  daugh- 
ter—"         ^       •      ' 

**  If  puch  were  the  case,"  the  count  interrupted, 
**  which  I  cannot  and  will  not  believe,  you  could 
not  be  more  indignant  or  more  ready  to  take  her 
pnrt  than  myself. '' 

I  Tawing  Jacques  aside,  he  added  in  a  low  voice  : 
*'  ^'ould  \o  God  I  felt  sure  such  has  not  been  the 
cjse  I  One  can  never  foresee  what  tbat  wre:ched 
boy  may  take  it  into  his  head  to  do."     • 

*'  I  am  not  a  bit  alarmed,"  Jacques  answered  in 
the  same  tone.  **  It  is  a  child's  quarrel,  if  quarrel 
t'lere  has  been,  and  perhaps,  after  all,  as  Lescalle 
said,  it  may  be  only  a  bad  joke." 

Then  he  soothed  his  mother,  and  persuaded  her 
to  go  to  bed,  and  arranged  with  M.  Lescalle  that  a 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


mlhclie  and  post-horses  should  be  at  the  door  at  an 
early  hour  in  the  momiug,  that  they  wonld  go 
straight  to  Belbonsquet,  and  thence  late  in  the 
evening  to  La  Pinede.  Then  he  smoked  h's  cig«»r 
under  the  trees,  and  said  to  himself  : 

"  If  these  foolish  children  should  have  quarrell- 
ed, and  a  feud  arise  in  consequence  beiween  the 
De  Vedelles  and  *he  Lescallcs,  what  a  marvt  i"M 
piece  of  lucic  it  is  that  my  election  is  an  acconi' 
plished  jactP  * 

To  return  to  Madame  Lescalle.  On  that  event- 
ful day  when  she  had  sent  by  a  special  messenger 
— a  moEt  unwonted  piece  of  exl;ravagance,  justified 
ip  her  opinion  by  the  necessity  of  speedy  action — 
the  two  letters  which  were  doomed  to  disturb  tha 
night's  repose  of  the  travellers  at  Draguignan,  she 
had  undergone  a  greai  revolution  of  mind. 

Th^r^son,  freed  by  her  young  mistress's  absence 
from  the  domestic  duties  at  Belbonsquet,  had 
locked  up  the  pavilion  and  walked  to  Li  Oiotat. 
There,  at  last,  ia  the  store-room,  where  phe  found 
Madame  L?scalle,  she  had  been  able  to  relieve  her 
heart  by  giving  free  scope  to  her  tongue.  We  need 
not  repeat  all  she  said  to  that  lady.  It  can  be 
er^ily  guessed  in  what  high  colors  she  painted  all 
she  had  heard  and  overheard  during  thfj  last  weeks, 
and  kow  her  haired  of  George  de  Vedelles  made 
her  describe  his  conduct  not  only  as  it  must  natu- 
rally have  appeared  to  her,  oOious,  but  positively 
brutal.  If  he  was  not  mad,  she  declared,  he  must 
be  wicked,  and  if  he  was  not  wickeJ,  he  must  be 
mad.     In  any  case,  she  could  not  keep  silence  any 


1     !: 


!f  II 


3i8 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


longer,   and    now   that    lie    had    abandoned  his 
wife — 

''Abandoned  Rose!  What  do  you  mean?" 
Madame  Loscallo  exclaimed. 

*'  Did  not  Mise  Rose  inform  madame  that  M.  le 
Baron  left  Belboiisquet  laBt  week,  and  that  sho  has 
been  there  alone  ever  since — that  is  to  say,  she  was 
alone  till  last  S  itiirday,  when  Mise  M4de  came  to 
stay  with  her,'* 

*'Good  lieavens  I  and  why  was  I  not  told  of 
this  ?  1  shall  go  at  once  and  enquire  into  the 
mitter.  Get  me  my  shawl  and  bonnp*-- :  order  the 
donkey-cart." 

•'  Madame  must  take  the  keys  with  her,  then.  I 
brought  them  with  rae.  Miso  ^fcdo  and  Mia^ 
Rose  went  out  at  daybreak  on  Dominique's  mules. 
They  said  they  should  perhaps  be  absent  a  day  or 
two/' 

**  My  goodness !  what  does  all  this  mean  ? 
Everybody  is  gone  mad,  I  tliink.  Aunt  Med6 
among  the  rest.  Those  devotes  are  all  more  or  loss 
insane.  Y/hat  is  M.  L?sc.ille  about,  I  wonder  I 
Since  he  has  taken  up  the  Do  Vodelles  I  have  had 
neither  help  nor  comfort  from  him,  nothing  but 
running  up  and  down  t!;e  country  to  get  that 
proud,  impudent  fellow  Jacques  ebctcJ  ;  a  Legiti- 
mist, too — a  prei;fcy  sort  of  candidate  for  my  bus- 
baa  1  to  put  forward.  Hero  is  his  letter  ;  instead 
of  comiag  home  to-night,  as  was  expected,  he  stops 
ut  Draguignan  to  meet  the  old  count  and  countess 
on  their  way  back  frord  Paris.  I  must  write  io 
them  all.      Something  must  be  done.     Rose  is  as 


The  Notary's  Dattghter, 


319 


j?ood  as  uKmarried  now.  Still  she  will  always  he 
the  Baronne  dc  Vedelles.  I  wonder  w^hat  bas  be- 
come of  that  fada.^ 

Here  the  thought  crosaed  her  mind  that  George's 
disappearance  was  perhaps  a  good  riddance.  Then 
©ther  thonghts  followed.  Her  daughter,  if  legally 
separated  from  her  husband,  would  have  a  right  to 
her  rcarri age  settlement.  Thereson  had  ventured 
to  confess  to  lier  mistress  that  the  evening  before 
her  departure  she  overheard  the  baron  faying  to 
his  wife  (she  did  not  mention  that  8he4iad  listen- 
ed through  tlie  keyhole),  *'  I  shall  Idare  you  in 
possession  x)f  my  tortune,'* 

This  was  a  very  iuteresting  sentence,  and  the 
whole  «ituation  of  affairs  began  to  assume  anew 
aspect  in  Madame  Lescalle's  mhicl.  There  was 
much  that  rather  smiled  to  her  in  the  future  that 
her  actiTO  imagination  was  beginning  to  slce'ch 
out.  The  Baron ne  (j^eorge  de  Tedelles,  with  a 
good  income,  the  cashemires  and  diamonds  of  her 
corheiUBf  nerhaps  a  carriage  and  a  servant  with 
a  livery,  living  in  her  father"'s  house,  and  going 
into  the  world  cf  La  Oiotat,  a'^d  i^erhaps  of  Mar- 
seilles, with  her  mother,  whose  protection  would  be 
necessary  to  her,  formed  rather  an  agreeable  vi- 
sion in  that  mother's  eyes.  What  at  first  looked 
like  a  great  misfortune  was  assuming  another 
aspect.  Rose  uaed  to  say  she  did  not  want  to 
maiTy,  that  she  wished  to  live  at  home  with  her 
parents. 

**  Dear  mo,"  thought  Madame  Lescalle,  "this 
will  be  just  what  she  desires,  only  with  a  title  and 


*>i 


SI 

'  ?'' 

■  # . 

\ 

.  i 

■m 

^m: 

m 

■■:;.: 

i     ! 

\ 

320 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


an  income  in  addition  which  will  nuike  her  one  of 
the  first  ladies  in  the  town." 

It  was  wonderful  how  q,uicli:ly  this  i<iea  grew  and 
expanded,  and  embellished  by  being  dwelt  upon,  to 
such  a  degree,  indeed,  that  in  the  aoarse  of  a  few 
hours  Madame  Lescalle  had  arrived  at  thinking 
nothing  more  desirable  could  have  happeixd  thaa 
George^s  disappearance,  and  her  greatest  fear  now 
was  that  he  might  return  before  sttps  were  taken 
for  kg{il  separation,  wliicdi  aha  was  now  bent  oa 
bringing  aJbout, 

Thus  inspired,  she  wriote  her  \i: .:,.  (so  her  hus- 
band and  tJie  countxss,  and  took  care  <o-  make 
them  as  vague  as  possible,  and-  coaGthed  in  language 
which'  would: ensure  eoraplianco  witli  Ik  r  aacimona' 
When  once  shohad  Gonfroated  the  Vede!les,  mtii 
her  husband  by  her  side,  wheihcc  with  Eose's  con- 
sent, if. she  found,  her  returned"  to  Uelbonsqnet,.  or 
presuming  it  if  she  was.still  absent,  no  stone  WK)uldf 
she  leave  uiiturntd  tr>  clench  the  matter  and  bring 
St  to  an  issue^ 

There  was  sometliing  essonliaDy  oo^  ^.  i^Zve- iiir 
Madame  Leseallb's  natui'e.  She  liker*  :  "ti  and^ 
agitation  as  much  as.  some  people  appsecia  '  julm 
and  repose.  All  the  year  round,  she  was  striving  (a 
get  up  s'rni^gles  with  her  husband,  her  aunt,  and 
her  servants-  Life  was  dull  to  her  without  some 
©ne  to  dispute  with.  As  to  M..  Lescalle,- ho  was  too» 
absolute  in  some  respects  and  too  yielding- in  ethcrg 
to  afford  much  excitement  of  lliis  sort.  Mise 
Med 6  never  quarrelled  with  any  one.  The  ser- 
vants were  her  chief  resource,  but  it  is  not  exciting 


The  Notary  s  Daughiif* 


321 


"    1 


feo  dispute  with  persoua  obligi'd  lo  submit  to  one. 
The  prospect,  therefore,  of  an  encounter  in  whica 
she  felt  hers  would  be  tho  part  of  an  injured  mo- 
ther standing  up  for  her  child  gave  her  qnite  a 
genuine  rolief,  and  she  prepared  for  the  combat 
with  consid^  rablc  zest. 

She  and  Thcicson  went  to  Belbousquet  that  day, 
and  she  ftlt  thit  by  establishing  herself  th^re  she 
would  be  niistrosa  of  tho  situation.  In  case  M. 
Lescallo  should  not  at  once  take  her  part,  or  should 
hip.b  at  t'.e  possibility  of  a  reconciliation  between 
George  and  Rose,  she  prepared  some  magnificent 
appeals  to  the  feelings  of  a  father,  some  vehemtnt 
protests  ngainst  again  exposing  her  child  to  tho 
brutal  neglect  of  her  nnwort^^y  husb  md,  and  a  de- 
claratiou  tluit,  t'lough  noble  blood  might  not  ilow 
in  their  veins,  honor  was  as  dcar  to  Ihem  as  to  any 
aristocrat  i  i  P  ance,  and  fhe,  for  one,  would  never 
be  trodden  under  foot  by  the  great  ones  of  tho 
earth.  It  was  all  very  fine.  She  p.-ic  d  up  and 
down  the  verandah  spoutirg  these  sentences,  and 
they  sounded  well  in  her  own  ears. 

She  was  not  aware  that  two  dark,  wild-looking 
eyes  were  staring  at  her  through  tho  foliage.  They 
were  Benoitc's,  who  kept  wa'ching  t;ie  red-faced, 
plump,  excited  liitle  woman  as  she  would  have 
c!one  an  angry  turkey-c  ck.  People  were  to  her 
like  curious  animals,  and  the  hoped  that  if  mon- 
eieur  came  back  he  would  see  Mis6  gesticulate,  and 
stump  lip  and  down,  talking  as  fast  as  the  rooks 
up  in  tho  evergreen  oaks.  But  she  instinctively 
kept  out  of  her  way,  and  this  wus  prudent,  for 


AA 


J 


322 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


Th^res  n  had  Tiot  prepossessed  Madame  Lescallo  in 
her  favo  . 

Eirly  in  the  morning  this  lady  was  seated  i7i  the 
little  drawing-room  in  an  expectant  attitude.  Slie 
had  studied  her  dress,  prepared  her  attitudes,  ard 
again  rehearsed  her  ^peeciies.  The  chief  difficulty 
was  to  kno»v  whether  to  treat  the  Do  Vedelles,  w  hen 
they  arrived,  as  friends  or  foe-.  If  they  did  com- 
ply with  her  summons,  especially  if  they  and  her 
husband  arrived  together,  it  would  not  bo  possible 
to  receive  them  as  enemies. 

After  a  long  and  weary  lapse  of  time,  at  last, 
late  in  the  afternoon,  the  sound  of  a  carriage  in 
the  lane  was  he  a,  and  the  party  from  Draguignan 
came  in  sight.  The  Comtessc  de  Yedolles'  anxieiy 
had  gone  on  increasing  all  the  way,  and  when  on 
arriving  she  saw  neither  George  nor  Rose,  but  only 
Madame  Lescalle,  who  wa^  looking  grave  and  con- 
eequent'al,  her  heart  sank  within  her. 

"Where  are  our  uhiliire.i  ? "  she  asked  with 
emotion. 

*'  All  I  where  are  they,  indeed,  Madame  la  Oom- 
tesse?"  was  the  answer.  "My  daughter  is  with 
her  aunt.  Mademoiselle  Lescalle ;  as  to  your  son, 
God  only  knows  where  he  is." 

"Good  hejivens  !  what  has  happened?"  Not 
only  did  Madame  de  Vedelles  ejaculate  these 
words,  but  the  count  and  Jacques  made  similar 
exclamations,  and  M.  Lescalle  said  : 

"  Good  God,  madame  I  what  has  become  of 
him  ?  " 

"  Be   tjeutcd,"  Madame  Lescalle  answered  in  a 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


323 


solemn  manner,  **  I  hern  is  no  reason  to  fciippose 
that  anything  Inis  happened  to  M.  le  Biron  de  V«.'- 
delles  ;  his  disappearance  \\  in  keeping  with  the 
whole  of  his  conduct  since  hi^  marriage.  Ho  has 
shown  his  wife  nothing  but  hatred  and  aver.^ion, 
he  has  treated  her  with  the  most  studied  and  in- 
sulting neglect,  sciictly  vouchsafing  to  speak  to 
her.  The  faithful  and  devoted  servant  who  fol- 
lowed ray  daughter  to  this  solitude  can  bear  wit- 
ness to  his  savage,  rude,  brutal  cond.uct." 

At  these  words  Madame  de  Vedelles  burst  into 
tears ;  t  e  faces  of  the  two  fathers  expresscel  diffe- 
rent but  strong  sentiments  of  indignation.  }X. 
de  Vedelles  said  : 

"I  cannot  condemn  my  son  without  a  hearing. 
If  he  has  acted  as  you  describe,  madame,  I  will 
disown  and  disinherit  him.  jjuh  for  God's  sake,  is 
there  no  clue  tc  his  movements  ?  Does  no  one 
know  where  he  is  ?  " 

"  Why  did  not  Rose  let  you  know  at  once  that 
he  had  left  her  ?"  M.  LtRcalle  asked.  "Did  my 
sister  know  of  his  departure  ?  " 

**  All  I  can  tell  you  is  that  yonr  sister  carried 
off  Rose  with  her  yesterday  morning,  i  have 
neither  seen  cor  heard  from  them  for  some  days." 

There  was  a  pause.  Poor  Madame  de  Vedelles 
seemed  stunned-  She  thought  George  so  incapa- 
ble of  Laking  care  of  himself  that  it  maele  her 
tremble  to  think  of  him  alone  and  amongst  stran- 
gers. She  turned  and  looked  out  of  the  window 
with  a  moumf';!l,  wistful  expression  ;  remorse  and 
grief  were  brimming  up  in  her  heai't  and  filling  it 


324 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


with  bitterues?.  The  old  count  ha(3  no  remorse, 
but  kept  saying  to  himself  that  fcliis  sen  of  his, 
once  the  joy  and  pride  of  his  heart,  had  become  a 
source  of  endless  misery.  He  felt  exasperated 
against  Madame  Le.  c  lie,  whose  every  word  wound- 
ed him  to  the  quick,  and  yet  he  was  too  just  and 
too  much  afraid  t  .at  there  might  be  grounds  for 
xier  resentment  to  give  way  to  his  owe. 

M.  Lescalle  had  listened  to  his  wife's  denuncia- 
tions with  anxiety,  and  felt  at  a  loss  what  to  say 
or  wljat  part  to  take  on  the  subject.  The  silence 
lasted  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  Madame  T^'^s- 
calle,  gathering  up  all  her  energy,  again  recapitu- 
la'ed  her  charges  against  George,  and,  raising  her 
voice,  said  that  unt^erno  circumstances  and  in  no 
case — she  solemnly  declared  it  in  the  presence  of 
M.  Lescalle,  who,  if  he  had  any  sense,  honor,  or 
right  feeling,  would  support  her,  and  in  that  of  the 
Oomtc  and  Comtesse  de  Vedelles,  whoso  rank  and 
position  in  no  way  abashed  her — she  s'aould  not 
consent  to  her  daughter  remaining  wiih  a  husband 
who  spurned  and  despised  her.  She  should  take 
her  back  to  her  paternal  home,  not  an  aristocratic 
one,  indeed,  but  where,  under  her  mother's  pro- 
tection, she  would  be  shielded  from  insult  and  ill- 
usage.  ♦ 

M.  Lescalle  ventured  to  interrupt  his  wife's  floW^ 
of  language  by  observing  that  Rose  would  have  to 
bo  consulted  on  the  subject.  This  remark  roused 
all  Madame  Loscalle's  ire,  and  she  burst  forth 
again  into  a  frosh  torrent  of  accusations  against 
George,  which  mode  the  countess  look  every  mo- 


T}u  Notary's  Daughter. 


325 


ment  loore  miserable,  the  count  more  exasperated, 
M.  Lescalle  luorc  disti-essed. 

Tiie  only  person  in  ihc  room  who  did  not  seem  at 
ail  agitated  was  Jjcqii-  ?.  He  listened  to  this  flow  of 
words  with  great  cDm[X)suro,  It  was  in  his  nature 
to  take  a  verj  sanguine  vievv  of  things,  and  he  e*it 
neai-  the  window  pulling  the  cars  of  his  dog,  which 
had  followed  him  into  the  room,  with  the  resigned 
look  of  a  person  waiting  for  the  cessation  of  a 
troublesome  noise.  In  the  midst  of  one  of  Ma- 
dame Lascallb's  most  startling  bursts  of  eloquence 
he  stood  up  and  said : 

"  Dear  me !  there  they  are  in  the  garden, 
George  and  Rose,  walking  arm-in-arm." 

Evoiy  one  rushed  to  the  window.  Rose  had 
just  got  off  her  donkey,  and  was  lojki ug  at  her 
husband  with  such  an  unmistakable  expression  of 
affection  and  happiness  that  Madame  de  Ytdelles' 
eyes  filled  with  tears  of  joy,  and  Madame  Lescalle 
felt  as  if  a  glass  of  water  had  been  suddenly  dash- 
ed into  her  face. 

George  and  Rose  crossed  the  parterre,  came  into 
the  house,  and  started  with  surprise  when,  on 
opening  the  drawing-room  door,  they  saw  the  fami- 
ly party  assembled  there.  No  one  knew  exactly 
what  to  say  or  do,  so  great  was  the  revulsion  of 
feeling  on  every  side.  Madame  de  Vodelles  and 
Madame  Le^caKe  seemed,  for  different  reasons, 
ready  to  faint.  Jacques  alone  was  self-possessed. 
He  went  up  smilingly  to  G'^orgc  and  said  : 

"  Oongratnlate  me  on  my  election,  George.  I  sup- 
pose the  news  had  not  reached  you  in  this  desert  V* 


ir 


1  ! 


m 


326 


The  Noturys  Danghter, 


"Oh!"  exclaimed  Geoi*ge,  ''would  dear  old 
Vincent  bad  heard  it ;  he  woald  have  been  so 
glad."  • 

j^     "  Vinf^nt  \ "  the  count  and  countess  exclaimed 
at  t^^e  came  time. 

"  We  heard  l:e  was  ill,*'  Madanie  de  Vedclle? 
said,  "bat,  oh  \  U  he  dead,  our  dear,  faithlnl  old 
friend  ? '' 

The  count  walked  to  one  of  the  windows  and 
turned  away  to  hide  Ms  emotion,  wiiilst  his  wife 
shed  tears  she  did  not  try  to  disguise. 

"  George,"  she  said,  "  were  you  with  him — did 
you  comfort  him  for  our  absence  ?  " 

"  N'o,  mother,"  he  answei*ed,  taking  her  haofda 
between  bis  own,  "  I  arrived  too  late,  but  my  dear 
little  wife  was  with  him  during  his  last  hours.  M. 
le  Cure  told  mc  that  she  had  soothed  and  console  1 
and  cheered  him.  He  gave  her  messages  for  us  alL 
Come,  Rose,  and  tell  my  mother  all  about  it." 

Madame  de  Vedelles  opened  her  arms  and  clasp- 
ed her  young  daughter-in-law  to  her  breast  with 
feelings  too  strong  for  utterance,  ifot  to  Vincent 
alone  did  she  feel  that  this  fair,  gontle  girl  had 
proved  a  ministering  angel.  George  was  not  the 
same  morose,  dejected  being  he  had  been  for  tlje 
last  four  years.  S  le  saw  it  in  his  eyes,  she  per- 
ceived it  in* the  tone  of  his  voice,  and  when,  kneel- 
ing by  her,  he  pressed  his  lips  on  the  clasped 
hands  of  his  mother  and  his  ^  ife,  she  could  only 
look  up  to  heaven  in  silent,  ardent  thankfulness. 

Madame  Lescalle  had  gazed  in  silence  on  this 
scene.     She  was   fairly  bewildered  at  a  changD 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


32; 


vvliicb,  to  do  her  justictv,  did  take  htr  by  faurprise  ; 
out  tlicre  was  no  mistaking  her  daughter's  coun- 
lena  ce  and  manner;  it  was  impossible  to  make 
her  out  a  victim,  and  the  good  side  of  her  own 
1  ear-  asserted  itself,  she  was  glad  that  Rose  was 
happy.  She  said  to  herself,  not  quoting  Shaks- 
P'  ro,  bu*;  her  wits  jumping  with  those  of  the  gr^at 
.dramatist,  **  AJVs  well  that  ends  well,"  and,  look- 
ing at  her  husband,  ejaculated  : 

"  Well,  but  what  does  it  all  mean  ?  '* 

Tiie  notary  rubbed  his  hands  and  twinkled  bis 
eyes  and  smiled,  as  if  <o  convey  the  idea  that  he 
had  known  all  along  there  was  nothing  the  mat- 
ter. 

Meanwhile  Jacqups  had  b«en  opening  a  newspa- 
per he  had  brought  from  Marseilles,  and  glancing 
over  its  columns  he  suddenly  made  ai^  exclama- 
tion. 

'•Any  important  news  ?"  his  father  asked. 

"  Important  domestic  news,"  Jacques  answered, 
"  if  this  jjaragraph  i?  not  a  hoax." 

*'  A  hoax  ?    What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

They  all  gathered  round  him,  and  Jacques  read 
as  follows : 

"The  secret  regarditg  the  authorship  of  the 
volume  of  poems  which  made  so  great  a  sensation 
during  the  last  few  days  at  Paris  has  transpired.  It 
is  now  said  in  literary  circles  that  the  young  poet 
whose  first  efforts  have  boen  so  eminently  success- 
ful, and  to  whom  it  is  anticipated  that  the  Prix 
Monthyon  will  be  awarded  this  year,  is  the  Baron 
Gkorge  de  Vedelles,  son  of  the  count  of  that  name, 


328 


The  Notary's  Daughter. 


well  known  as  a  OistiDguished  member  of  the 
mjigistracj  in  ihe  west  of  France.  This  young 
man  is  only  twen^y-onc  years  of  ag^,  and  bids 
fair  to  rival  some  of  our  most  eminent  modern 
poets." 

"Good  heavens  I"  Madame  Lescallc  exclaimed, 
"yon  t!on't  mean  to  say  that  you  have  written  a 
book  V 

Roae  burst  out  into  a  joyous,  laugh,  and  clapped 
her  little  hands  together. 

"Is  this  true,  George?"  the  couut  enquired, 
laying  his  hand  on  his  son's  shoulder. 

He  was  answered  by  a  smile  and  a  flush  of 
pleasure  on  George's  pale  cheek.  Jacques  threw 
up  something,  t'.ie  newspaper,  or  his  hat,  in  the 
air.  The  notary  embraced  the  count,  who  felt  so 
happy  that  he  did  not  resent  it. 

"  Oil  I  if  Aunt  M6de  was  only  here  !"  Rose  cried 
out  J  and  it  seemed  as  if  that  day  all  her  wishes 
were  to  be  granted,  for  almost  as  soon  as  sht  had 
Tittered  the  words  Mile.  Lescalle  appeared.  She 
had  received  her  sister-in-law's  summons,  but  not 
till  late*tn  the  day.  Madame  Lescalle  had  not  felt 
anxious  that  Mis6  M^de  should  join  tl>e  family 
counc.I,  and  had  purposely  sent  her  note  so  as  not 
to  reach  her  quite  in  time.  Now  her  arrival  was  a 
welcome  event.  She  had  much  to  hear,  much  to 
see,  much  to  guess  at,  and  much  to  thank  God  for, 
that  dear  Mis6  Med6,  and  it  was  well  she  was  there 
to  suggest  that  they  had  all  better  depart  and  leave 
the  young  couple  to  themselves  and  to  the  peaceful 
enjoyment  of  their  new  found  happiness. 


The  Notary's  Daughter, 


329 


As  sue  opened  the  door  leading  out  of  the  draw- 
ing-room Bcn6i  e  was  diECovored  behind  it.  The 
little  goatherd  had  an  inveterate  habit  of  ea\csdrop- 
p:ng,  but  no  one  thought  at  that  moment  of  re- 
proving her.     She  darted  up  to  Rose  and  said  : 

"  Mi86,  is  monsieur  what  ho  always  said  I  was,  a 
poet  ?  " 

Upon  which  Rose — they  were  all  a  little  beside 
themselves  just  then — hugged  her  and  said  : 

'•Yes,  he  is,  and  I  shall  read  you  some  of  hid 
verses." 

On  a  lovely  morning  in  May,  two  years  after- 
wards, M.  and  Madame  George  do  Vedelles  wore 
sitting  on  the  grass  of  the  little  lawn  at  Belbous- 
quet,  and  their  beautiful  boy  of  fifteen  months  old 
rolling  near  them  amongst  the  daisies.  George 
kept  catching  at  his  son's  little  fat  legs,  which  made 
him  shout  with  laughter,  whilst  Wasp,  rather  jeal- 
ous of  the  baby,  uttered  short  barks  to  attract  his 
master's  attention. 

On  a  rustic  arm-chair,  close  to  i\A\  group,  Mis^ 
M6d6  sat  knitting  stockings  for  her  poor  people. 
Rose  had  on  her  knees  a  newspaper,  and  divided 
her  attention  between  it  and  the  frolics  of  George 
and  her  boy.  Suddenly  she  uttered  an  exclamation 
which  made  her  husband  turn  towards  her  his 
handsome  head,  'nto  the  dark  locks  of  which  his 
baby  had  been  sticking  daisies  and  blades  of  grass. 

"  Read  that,"  Rose  said,  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 
He  took  the  paper  and  perused,  with  visible  emo- 
tion, the  paragraph  which  his  wife  had  pointed  out 
to  him. 


4 


330 


The  Notary  s  Daughter. 


It  waa  ft  descript'o:!  of  the  fearful  ravages  of  the 
}ell)w  fever  in  Soadi  America,  and  the  announce- 
ment of  the  death  of  Be  vera  I  Sis  i  era  of  Charity  in 
the  hospitals,  where  day  and  night  th(y  had  been 
nursing  the  sick.  "  Amongst  others,"  ii  went  on 
to  say,  "  we  regret  to  ttate  that  Soeur  Deniso,  eg 
welllnown  at  Mareeilles  as  the  friend  of  the  poor, 
and  w  10.  in  the  world,  was  so  much  admired  as 
Mademoiselle  de  la  Pinedc ,  has  fallen  a  victim  to 
the  raging  pestilence.     R.I.r.*' 

"Wijat  different  paths  there  are  to  heaven!" 
George  ejaculated  with  a  sigh.  '*  Hers  has  been  a 
short  and  glorious  one.  To  her  wo  owe  it,  Rose, 
that,  thank  God,  we  aim  at  the  same  end,  though 
byaditFereut  road." 

"Is  not  our  road  to  b oth,  too  bright,  too 

happy  r "  she  said,  drawing  close  to  Mm  and  laying 
her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"My  own  darling,"  he  answered,  "it  is  indeed 
beautifu?  and  smiling  now  ;  but  when  we  love  any- 
thing 031  earth  as  I  love  jou  and  that  baby  tie 
thought  will  sometimes  arise  that  grief  mud  come 
some  day  to  you  or  to  me.  One  of  us.  Rose,  will 
huve  to  go  first  and  leave  the  other  behind.  Hea- 
ven cannot  be  reached  without  previous  anguish  by 
those  who  love  each  other  as  wo  do.  Site  went 
straight,  ahd  on  to  the  goal,  nothing  weighing  her 
(!own  or  keeping  her  back.  We  must  not  weep  for 
her/' 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Then  the  baby 
tottered  up  to  them  with  a  ball  in  its  little  hand 
and  threw  it  to  Wasp,  which  played  with  it  and  with 


The  Notary  s  Daughter, 


331 


the  b'y  in  a  wild,  froliclfsome  8t:yle.     Tbe  parouts 

smili'd,  and  soon  had  to  play  too,  whilst  Mis^  M6- 

do  looked  with  rapture  on  the  scene. 

**0  my  dear  children  I"  she  exclaimed,    "hap- 

piuoes  13  a  beautitul  thinrj  to  ere." 

George  kissed  her  wnnkled  brow  and  said  : 
**Dear  old  aunt,  it  is  a  blessed  thing  to  be  able 

to  enjoy  the  happiness  of  others." 


THE  i:kd. 


